A Star Among Audacity
by Tw1st
Summary: As the Battle of the Five Armies comes to an end, and the fall of Thorin II Oakenshield whispers across Middle Earth, Fíli and Kíli are thrown into positions of power while Tauriel is faced with the task of forming an alliance between men, dwarves, and elves. Now, as the smoke settles, only one thing remains certain; everything is about to change. (Kíli & Tauriel Fic.)
1. Audacity

**A/N: **As some would agree I longed for a different ending to The Battle of the Five Armies. Here is my attempt at giving Fíli, Kíli and Tauriel a second chance.

Please, as always, let me know of any inconsistencies with the movies/books (obviously aside from what I do as creative control) and tell me if you catch any grammatical errors!

**Disclaimer:** I am neither Tolkien nor Jackson (though wouldn't that be something if I were!?)

**On 1/12/2017 this story was completely PULLED and EDITED. I highly suggest re-reading it, for I have added and changed many things since its original published date! **

* * *

**Audacity** \- The willingness to take bold risks.

"_This one dies first. Then the brother. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last_."

Kíli had, in his arguably short lifetime, never felt so troubled by a vigorous string of threats.

The rough, callous voice of intimidation tumbled loudly down the stone walls above the now breathless dwarf prince, causing his booted heels to skid into an ill-timed halt at the edge of the broken, snow invaded hallway.

Kíli's breathing quieted to a distressed stillness as the words, spoken in the dark goblin tongue, roused a mixture of both fire and fear deep within his trembling belly. He took a cautioned step forward, abandoning any protection that the crumbling fortress of Ravenhill provided, and craned his neck upward while desperately searching the overhead towers for sight of his brother. The dwarf prince's dark brown eyes eagerly scanned their way up toward the peak of the tower as he took yet another long, tentative step out onto the snowy walkway.

A current of powerlessness washed over Kíli as his eyes met Fíli's, and his entire body ached as the reality of what he was about to witness flurried violently through his mind.

"RUN!" The familiar, furious voice of Fíli urged from above, hoping that his bold plea would reach the ears of their stubborn King.

Kíli's chest tightened in response to the desperate, unnatural command as it left his older brother's mouth. The raven-haired prince stared up at the hopeless sight of his dangling kin for a long, inert moment as his fists began to clench with anticipation. A futile feeling washed over the dwarf prince, like a frozen wave of water as he watched Azog raise his sharpened prosthetic forearm with a twisted smile of amusement painted across his scarred, white face.

Time stopped. And the world, as Kíli knew it, fell into a haunting stillness.

Kíli tried to scream out, to cry in objection, to plea with Mahal… but his voice faltered within his throat, leaving a scorching sensation where the words failed to ascend. A surge of emotion clawed viciously at his soul, and heavy tears began to pool along his thick line of lower lashes. Never had he felt so small, so helpless, so powerless…

Suddenly, as all hope faded rapidly into darkness, Kíli's keen ears caught wind of the familiar, distant sound of a humming bow string. Moments later the dwarf prince's young eyes locked onto a lone golden-tipped arrow as it soared swiftly and silently through the air, eventually finding its resting place deep within Azog's right wrist.

The fateful attack happened so quickly and so stilly that Azog's immediate and forced reaction was to release his grip around Fíli's neck while taking a stumbling, terrified step backwards. The fabled white orc wailed out a single shrill cry, mixed with anger and confusion, as he stared down at his only remaining arm with dismay. The arrow, easily removed with a bite from Azog's uneven teeth, proved to be neither fatal nor deep; but it had deposited enough pain to buy the Company some time.

And time was _all_ that they needed.

Kíli watched as his blonde-haired brother plummeted quickly down the lengthy distance between them, his arms and legs flailing about him in failed attempts to ease his descend. With quick reaction Kíli lunged forward, his heart pounding rapidly within his chest, twisting and reaching out to catch Fíli roughly within his arms. Subsequently the duo slid across the icy ground, drifting aimlessly across the rough, cold floor in a tangled pile of leather, armor, hair, swords, arrows, and dwarves.

"Fíli!" Kíli managed to groan, straightening his back along the rigid stone floor as the chill of the winter's crisp air settled around their freshly aching and battered bodies.

"F-Fíli?" Kíli croaked again, this time flicking his gaze onto his brother's body with anticipation, expecting to find him in the form of a crippled mess. The raven-haired prince was overcome with pride to instead discover that his blonde counterpart appeared to be momentarily adrift, but hardly battered.

Fíli released a painful gasp in response to his brother's second outcry as he rolled onto his side, clutching at the neck of his thin armor. Kíli's concern vanished instantly at the sight of Fíli's intact condition and he regained his stolen strength immediately. With a sharp inhale the younger prince drew himself upright onto his elbows and forced the cold air back out through gritted teeth. He would count his blessings now, while he had a moment, and try not to dwell on what _could_ have been…

"That was… close. Too close. What happened?" Fíli finally asked, his voice quivering as he glanced with inquiry up towards the crest of the tower from whence he came.

"An… elven arrow…" Kíli responded after a span of silence, his words trailing off as his heart fluttered unexpectedly.

_Tauriel._

Pressing his rough, large hands into the frozen ground, the brunette-haired dwarf propelled himself up onto his feet and gripped at the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it with proficiency and determination. Fíli followed suit, albeit slightly slower, drawing dual swords from his back. Together, once again ready to fight like the born warriors they were, the brothers looked surprisingly deadly for their size.

"We must find Thorin," Fíli pressed urgently, darting quickly towards a long, twisting stairway that led up into the higher levels of the fortress, "this way!"

As Kíli ascended after his brother's trail a goblin screech pierced through the cold, whipping wind in an immediate response to Fíli's sword as it sliced across the nape of the foul creature's neck. Kíli jumped to the side as the goblin's limp body rolled down the stairway, shooting the brute an _almost_ apologetic look for his untimely demise.

Once the brothers reached the top of the stairway a small battle ensued with both Fíli and Kíli plunging and darting their weapons in, out, and around the bodies of the wretched horde of goblins. Black blood painted the stone floor of the abandoned tower as the duo fought; the battle eventually ending with a long, sputtering cry emitting from the mouth of a goblin as it fell lifelessly against Kíli's outstretched blade. Fíli flashed Kíli an approving look, slapping his hand against his brother's arm before leading him onward.

After a short run through winding, deteriorating hallways the brothers burst through the entrance of the fallen fortress out onto a long, icy platform where their wandering eyes searched eagerly for their missing King.

As they stood, breathing heavily in their break of battle, Fíli grabbed aggressively at Kíli's arm, pointing out toward the edge of the stone tower. Off in the distance the brothers could discern two very separate figures belonging to Thorin and Azog; both dancing within a heated battle along the bank of the frozen water. Kíli quickly drew his bow as he watched his uncle and the giant orc ferociously bash against one another with clashing weapons - but their distance proved too great for his arrows.

"Quickly," Fíli breathed, ushering his brother to the side with the intention to lead him out towards the quarrel.

"_KILL THEM ALL_!" An unexpected cry echoed, traveling out from within the hallways of the stone tower.

This particular voice, bold and aggressive, was easily recognizable as belonging to the distinguished goblin leader Bolg, son of Azog. Bolg, Kíli recalled, was widely acclaimed for mirroring his father in brutality while doubling his father in repulsiveness.

The brothers paused in their race and exchanged quick, purposeful looks. Fíli's expression morphed into bleakness as he watched his brother's eyes flick longingly up towards the tower, dreading the reality of his stare.

"No." Began Fíli, reaching for Kíli's arm protectively.

"Go now," Kíli motioned towards the water's edge, pushing his brother away with his stern, unfaltering gaze, "I will finish this."

"Kee…" Fíli argued, his eyes filling with a familiar protective fondness that only Kíli would comprehend.

Kíli's entire life had been spent at his brother's side. They played together, trained together, fought together, and loved one another with a fierceness that could not be broken or matched. Their bond, much stronger than most, had proven time and again to be the greatest weapon they both possessed; and yet here they stood, during the most important battle of their young lives, forced to toss that powerful bond aside.

"Go to Thorin." Kíli pleaded, his words breaking free in the tone of a whisper. "You have to."

Despite his contradicting will, fueled by his understandable fears and apprehensions for his brother, Fíli's kingly instincts took hold of his body and forced his feet to back away in the direction of Thorin's aid. Somewhere, deep down inside of the elder royal heir, there laid a certainty that Kíli - despite his skill with bow and blade - could never best a foe such as Bolg.

"_Be safe, my brother_!" Fíli called out in the tongue of their people as Kíli barreled into a sprint, disappearing back into the halls of the decaying fortress.

Kíli traveled through the Ravenhill passages, nimble and swift, slashing and slaughtering his way through a horde of goblins. He repeated the motions of laying his blade deep into their bellies, across their skulls, through their heads, and down around their ears as he climbed, further and further up and around the winding halls and stairwells. His encounters with the goblin army seemed to grow thinner and thinner as he flew, leaving a stream of hope within the dwarf prince's mind as each new enemy fell to his blade.

"Kíli!"

Kíli's ears twitched as a misplaced cry impeded his feet, causing the dwarf to glance desperately about him with wide, determined eyes. _It can't be…_

As he strained his ears, waiting for the call once again, two goblins descended from higher ground and surrounded the unsuspecting prince, momentarily catching him inattentive. He responded quickly by turning and stabbing the first goblin swiftly in the left shoulder, then ducked down to avoid a crushing blow while plunging his blade into the side of the second goblin. As the second fowl soul fell Kíli spun expertly around on his heels and hooked his arm around the remaining goblin's neck, shoving his sword deep into the creature's spine.

"Kíli!"

Kíli froze once again, his blade now buried deep inside the back of the dying and sputtering goblin. This time he knew, without a doubt, that his ears had not deceived him.

"Tauriel!" He screamed out, pulling his blade free from the goblin's writhing body and spinning wildly around. His dark brown eyes searched eagerly through the relentless, thick fog, straining to catch sight of the fiery-haired she-elf.

Kíli's heart plummeted as he located Tauriel several flights down, battling a horde of goblins atop a distant platform. He watched with bated breath as the she-elf took down the last surrounding enemy, plunging her dual daggers deep into the top of the orc's skull. Finally, as Kíli moved to the edge of the wall, their determined gazes locked onto one another; and fierce green longingly clashed into gentle brown. A shockwave of adrenaline rushed throughout the young dwarf prince's entire body as he drank her in, captivated and fearful.

"_Amrâlimê_." Kíli muttered softly, knowing that her elven ears would hear him.

Tauriel's lips parted slightly as the corners of her mouth began to curl up into a soft, weak smile; but the moment was disrupted by a deep, savage laugh as it emitted from the passageway alongside the unsuspecting elf. Before Tauriel had time to react Bolg's hulking foot launched aggressively into the she-elf's midriff, heaving her entire body limply into the side of an icy stairwell.

Kíli released a distressed gasp as he rushed forward at the sight, his hand instinctively stretching outward as if he could ease the distant blow. Bolg's blue and white eyes flicked up toward Kíli as the dwarf observed the small battle, followed by a disgusting smile of pleasure stretching across the orc's disfigured face.

Fury scorched like fresh poison throughout the dwarf prince's veins as a new determination overwhelmed him. A dwarven war-cry roared from deep within his lungs as Kíli swiftly made his way down the stairs, barrel rolling under the attack of a goblin while driving his sharp blade across the back of the creature's legs. When he was satisfied that the enemy was slain, he turned his attention back onto the she-elf; his stomach immediately churning at the sight of Bolg holding Tauriel by the throat, elevating her limp body high above the ground.

A transient look of fear flicked across the elf's face as she stared down the goblin's large forearm, and she swayed in and out of consciousness as her breath began to desert her. Somehow, amidst the chaos and pain, Tauriel managed to drive her foot forward into the creature's large thigh, buying her a brief moment of freedom as she crumbled down onto the stone floor.

Kíli's legs fell into a frantic sprint as he dodged the slashing blades of several determined goblins and outran black arrows as they rained down around his dancing heels. The sound of his boot's slipping and colliding against the ancient stone floor echoed throughout the fortress, leaving an obvious trail in his wake.

He was _so_ close, they were only a bit further…

Tauriel, completely spent and lacking in strength, drew her dagger swiftly from her hip and rushed towards Bolg with a weak ferocity that the goblin leader easily smacked away with no adversity. The she-elf's weapon soared freely from her grip, sliding over the edge of the slick platform and plummeting down towards the snowy earth below. Once Tauriel was successfully disarmed Bolg brought a strong, heavy elbow down against her left shoulder and threw her, head first, into the stone wall. A crooked smile then twisted to life across the goblin leader's face as he slowly approached Tauriel's writhing, heaving body. He paused beside her, hovering over the she-elf like a starving warg, and slowly raising the sharp end of his mace high above his head with a menacing purpose.

Using the last of his energy Kíli threw himself over the edge of the final ledge between himself and Bolg, bringing his sword protectively down around the goblin's giant mace and arms while successfully blocking the hulking creature's attempt to pierce through Tauriel's chest. Bolg was taken aback by the swift, interrupting ambush and he instinctively heaved Kíli forward, causing the dwarf to painfully collide in an agonizing heap against the stone floor.

Kíli's breath evacuated his chest and his eyelids drifted slowly shut as his body reacted to the impact. A sharp pain shot upwards and throughout his entire body as the oxygen left his lungs; and for a genuine, fleeting moment the dwarf prince was uncertain that he could congregate the power to lift himself again.

A small, muted scream escaped Tauriel's lips, causing Kíli's eyes to flicker open and glance out towards her. The tragic sight of the beautiful elf, collapsed in physical agony at the base of the crumbling tower wall, urgently sparked life back into the dwarf prince's heart. He wouldn't let her die. He _couldn't_.

Gasping for air, Kíli thrust himself back onto his feet with a freshly impassioned determination. The brown eyed dwarf prince then barreled forward into Bolg's body, throwing his sword across the goblin leader's chest and ducking down as the creature's giant mace flew dangerously close to the top of his raven-haired head. Kili plunged his sword forward in one final, desperate attempt at ending the ongoing battle - but Bolg was much faster than the dwarf prince had anticipated. In a matter of seconds the goblin's large fist pounded unexpectedly against Kíli's brow, knocking the dwarf's head backwards and allowing Bolg time to pin the young prince between his large knee and hand, pressing Kíli into captivity.

Every sound, both loud and soft, alleviated into silence as Kíli's perception of the world began to fade in and out of existence. His sword, once nothing short of an appendage, slipped slowly from his limp hand and fell to the ground with a vibrating clatter. Through his blurred, failing vision, Kíli watched with hopelessness as Bolg lifted his mace with murderous determination high above the dwarf's heaving chest.

Hot tears pooled within the corners of Kíli's eyes, sliding down his cheeks as an image of Tauriel flashed before his vision.

_I would have loved you forever…_

A warrior cry burst through Tauriel's clenched teeth as she gathered the end of her fleeting strength and drew herself up, launching herself onto Bolg's back while pulling at the blunt end of his mace.

The goblin leader released his grip on Kíli, who fell into a listless heap on the cold stone floor. The motionless prince watched helplessly as Tauriel spun her body around Bolg's neck, kicked her heels into the stone wall, and forced both herself and the giant goblin to fall over the edge of the high tower.

"NO!" The dwarf managed to scream.

Then Kíli, son of Durin, succumbed to the lure of a peaceful darkness.

* * *

Kíli tossed his talisman up into the air, watching with interest as the small, dark stone captured the dimming lights of the Elven prison, flashing the yellow glow along its black surface. A smile stretched weakly across the creases of his stubble-covered cheeks as Kíli recalled the _exact_ moment his mother had thrust the small token into his palm; flashing him a look full of warning and love as she held him within her arms. The young prince had been quick to inquire if Fíli had also been forced into making any "unbreakable promises", to which his mother begrudgingly reminded Kili that he was the more "irrational son" of the two.

_Look, Mother, _he quietly mused, capturing the stone stilly within his hands while glancing past the bars of his enclosure, _I'm a prisoner of Woodland Elves; but most certainly secure and intact, as you very much wished!_

A sudden pang of sadness flared throughout Kíli's veins as he sat, cold and alone in his singular cell, crudely reminding him of how greatly he missed his stubborn, relentless, over-protective mother. He missed the way that she rolled her eyes at him, or smacked the back of his head when he was being unruly. He missed the soft kisses she would plant across his forehead when he was acting sweetly, and how she laughed so loudly and merrily at his occasional foolishness. He missed her singing. He missed her hugs. And above all, he missed her smile.

"The stone in your hand," a voice, much like a beautiful melody, challenged from beyond the bars of his enclosure, "what is it?"

Kíli's eyes winced up towards the she-elf with caution from where he perched, simmering amidst the murky shadows at the corner of his jail cell. He was quick to recognize the elf, simply by the tenderness of her tone, long before his eyes had adjusted to the narrow peaks that defined her fair face. This particular elf, who had been a rather key component in their earlier capture, was proving to be an increasingly prickly Elven thorn within the dwarven companies' side.

As Kili stared at her, drinking in the view of her creamy complexion, his unguarded demeanor began to slowly dissipate. His expression grew soft as the elf's fair, pale skin and long, rose-tinged hair awoke homey memories within the dwarf prince's heart; memories of glowing, crisp fires and sweet, warm honey brew.

"It is a talisman," he said casually, voice deeper than usual, watching as the elf captain's enchanting face morphed from an expression of mild suspicion into a look of profound interest. He was taken aback by her discernible shift in engagement, and her curious, unanticipated reaction compelled the young prince to continue. "A powerful spell lies upon it. If any but a dwarf reads the runes on this stone…" he began to shake his head back and forth, acting as if he was visualizing a terrible memory, then shoved the stone toward her and warned, "they will be forever _cursed_!"

The she-elf jumped slightly, glancing about her with an apparent edginess. She then took a swift step backwards and began to turn away from the dwarf, sighing with dismay.

Kíli bit down on his lower lip, inwardly tackling down the rising urge to chuckle as it formed within the pit of his belly. "Or not!" He called after her, causing the elf to hesitate. "Depending on whether you believe in that kind of thing, it's just a token."

His cold expression warmed into a grin as the she-elf turned her focus back onto him, flicking her green eyes cautiously down onto his face. She visibly softened at the sight of his smile, drawing herself slowly toward him.

"A rune stone," he finally answered with honesty, bouncing his eyes from her, to the talisman, then back up onto the elf's elegant face, "my Mother gave it to me so I would remember my promise."

The she-elf tilted her head with an earnest attentiveness, bowing slightly forward as if to share with him a precious secret. "What promise?"

"That I would come back to her." He replied with a shrug, tossing the stone into the air and catching it between his rough hands. "She worries. She thinks I'm reckless."

To his surprise the lovely she-elf indulged his nonsensical ramblings and furrowed her brow, stealing a glance towards the floor with deep consideration. "Are you?"

Kíli pondered the question for a moment, twisting his lips into a frown.

_Am I reckless? And how!_

"Nah." He decided eagerly, tossing the stone once again into the air; this time deliberately missing the token as it careened back down towards his hands. The talisman tumbled to the ground with an echoing clatter and promptly rolled beneath the cell's imprisoning gate. Kíli watched with anticipation as the token journeyed swiftly out towards the edge of the hallway; relief flowing through him as the she-elf stopped the stone's adventure with her foot.

The dwarf prince slowly rose to his feet and approached the edge of his cell, closing his hands tightly around the iron bars of the enclosure as the elf delicately lifted the stone from the ground. The edges of his lips twitched up into a small smile as he watched her explore the token, intrigued by the way she twisted the stone throughout her fingers with acute examination.

To the average observer it was nothing but a simple, dull task that the she-elf performed - but, _oh_, how it disconcerted Kíli in ways that he had never known possible…

Kíli's entire life had been filled with one particular image of the elven race; an image that had been expertly painted by the spewing hatred from his Uncle and fellow kin. An image that, until this day, Kíli had been non-the-wiser to deny. "Elves are simple, cruel, and self-centered creatures – never, _ever_ to be trusted!" Some would say. "Elves are evil!" Whispered others. "Elves are selfish!" Exclaimed many. "Elves are hateful, fowl beings that will _never_ measure up to the loyalty or honor of dwarves!" And, of course… "_Mahal_, they are the most grotesque, hairless, appalling looking creatures!"

And Kíli, captive to the halls of his kin for the first 77 years of his life, had both blindly and unfalteringly believed in every element of these fabrications… until now. Now, as he looked upon the she-elf before him, Kíli dared to question his uncle – his King – and everything he had ever been told.

"How could you be described as anything other than beautiful?" Kíli mused aloud, much to his immediate horror.

The elf captain paused her examination of the stone and quirked an attentive eyebrow. "What was that, Dwarf?" She inquired, closing her fingers around the stone and lowering it to her side.

Standing where he now stood the dwarf prince could make out the distant sounds of a cheery melody, mixed with loud guffaws and clinking goblets, trickling down from the fortress rafters. Clinging to the sounds, he chuckled nervously and gestured towards the upper hallways. "Ahem – I… it just… it sounds like … like _quite_ a party you're having up there."

He could feel the heat growing beneath the light stubble of his face, and Kíli prayed to all Seven of the Fathers that the she-elf had not heard his inappropriate ramblings…

The elf captain was quiet for a span, looking rather amused by the flush of his cheeks.

"It is _Mereth-en-Gilith_. The feast of starlight." She eventually enlightened, glancing up towards the source of the sounds and allowing Kíli a pardoning moment. "All light is sacred to the Eldar, but wood elves love best the light of the stars."

Kíli pressed his temples against the iron bars of his hold, absentmindedly drinking in her every word. He had never, in his entire life, encountered a being so angelic and pure; and, _Mahal_, the way she spoke! The harmony of her voice paired with the poetry of her words made his heart drum to an inspired cadence, and somehow _everything_ began to look different.

"I always thought it is a cold light," said Kíli just above a whisper, causing her to turn and gaze upon him in awe, "remote and far away."

"It is memory!" The she-elf retorted in a sad, pernicious tone. "Precious and pure."

Kíli felt his stomach twist with incitement as the elf floated back towards him, stopping short of the iron bars that divided them.

"Like your promise."

The elf captain held her hand out towards Kíli with a tender smile, balancing the stone gently between her grip. Kíli ran his hand through the gap of the prison bars and grabbed gingerly at the stone, capturing the softness of her palm at the tips of his fingers. She felt unnaturally warm, he decided, though the heat was inviting and pleasant.

The she-elf turned away once again, promenading as though she meant to depart, then paused and spun back toward the dwarf with a new, excited joy in her eyes. "I have walked there sometimes! Beyond the forest and up into the night - I have seen the world fall away, and the white light of forever fill the air..."

Kíli put forth an effort to picture the sight, attempting to summon a true comparison to the magnificence of her story.

"I saw fire moon once." He started cautiously, hoping his words would be sufficient enough in grasping her interest. "It rose over the pass near the Dunland. Huge! Red and gold, it was. It filled the sky."

The she-elf drifted back toward him - her attention secured to his every word - and she gracefully placed herself in a seated position upon the steps adjacent to his cell.

Kíli beamed at her attentiveness, pocketing his rune stone in preparation for the tale ahead.

"We were an escort for some merchants from Ered Luin. They were trading in silverwork for furs." He started, leaning his shoulder against the bars of his cell as he twisted to face her. "We took the greenway South, keeping the mountain to our left. And then… it appeared. This huge fire moon lighting our path. I wish I could show you the caverns - I could not describe their magnitude with words. You must see them to understand…"

"Perhaps I will travel there, one day." Said the elf, inclining her head slightly.

Kíli grinned, hooking his thumb into his chest and offering her a subtle wink, "you will need a dwarf companion to guide you, I'm afraid."

"You underestimate the will of an elf! We have a keen sense of direction." She countered, her voice laced with phony disappointment. "Have you learned nothing in your travels?"

Kíli shied away from her gaze and rubbed a rough hand against the back of his neck, flustered by her query. "You are… the first elf I have had the pleasure of meeting."

Kíli had encountered the elves of Rivendell once, several months prior when the Company had accidentally stumbled across the High-Elves' beautiful lands, but he had kept very much to himself under the watchful eye of his uncle. It would have been unwise to attempt an interaction with the elves, being as his kin so vehemently detested them; unlike now, where his uncle was absent and his kin was unreachable.

"It is not a very pleasant meeting." The she-elf examined, her voice absent of emotion.

"Ah, but I'm quite enjoying myself now." Began Kili, trailing off as he realized how absurd he likely sounded to his surrounding kin; only now taking the time to recognize the entire dwarven company likely honing in on his every word.

Once he had acknowledged their doubtless eavesdropping Kíli found that he could not bring himself to care, and thus continued. "And what of you? How many dwarves have been imprisoned by the captain of the Elven Guard?"

"Countless." She started, a playful twinkle sparkling within the leafy green edges of her eyes.

Kíli allowed himself a chuckle before folding his arms comfortably across his chest. "Countless!? How fortunate for them."

The she-elf was quiet for a span, narrowing her eyes upon Kíli's face with an apparent curiosity. The dwarf felt a vulnerability begin to grow beneath her intense inspection and he quickly drew in a shaky breath, muttering, "what?"

The elf bashfully retracted her eyes, reverting them towards the wall. "Forgive me. You are much taller than any dwarf I have encountered."

Kíli blinked in shock at her observation and straightened himself with a sudden tinge of pride. "My father is the tallest dwarf in our lineage…" He hesitated, realizing that he was about to divulge into aspects of his life that he had not visited in over a half of a century. "_Was_. He _was_ the tallest. He died, many years ago."

"I am … sorry." She offered, the sincerity of her voice drawing surprise.

"He died an honorable death. I hope to join him, one day… fighting for my people." Kíli addressed, disliking the solemn tone that their exchange was morphing into. "Death by spider would have been wonderful for the books, y'know? Imagine the songs …"

"The _songs_?" The elf repeated, catching his teasing tone. "Would you have preferred I not interfere?"

"I would have preferred you to have thrown me a dagger." Said Kíli with a grin. "You would be impressed with my skills, I assure you."

"I am impressed with your confidence, Dwarf, I will grant you that." The she-elf said sweetly, shooting him a calculated smile. "Furthermore, I would not rob you of the chance to return to your mother, alive."

"She will be pleased to know of your generosity." The dwarf prince smirked, intrigued by the sudden eagerness within his heart. "I will very much enjoy re-telling her of you."

"Will you mention this in your tales?" Inquired the elf, tapping the iron bars of Kíli's enclosure for emphasis.

Kíli belly-laughed, causing the elf's demeaner to soften even further. Once he had re-established his breathing, the dwarf prince straightened and shook his head. "It would be for the best that I keep this our little secret. You wouldn't enjoy Mother when she is angry. Very ferocious, for her size."

The she-elf pressed her lips tightly together, fighting off an adorably charming giggle.

"You are…" She trailed off, struggling to capture the words.

"Handsome beyond compare?" Kíli tried, capturing her gaze.

"Entirely unexpected."

Their eyes locked and a few timeless moments passed wherein Kíli felt the earth shift beneath him; and all at once, like a heavy fog drifting towards the sky, _everything_ felt different.

"Ah - yes. It's the beard." Kíli laughed nervously, rubbing his hand across the short hairs of his chin. "Fret not, when it grows in – and it _will_ – I expect to be just as intimidating as my uncle Thorin."

The she-elf's eyes widened for a fleeting moment as if she suddenly looked upon Kíli with a new awareness.

"Uncle? You are also an heir of Durin…" she started, telling more-so than inquiring. "What brings your kin so far East? So far from your home?"

"Home?" Echoed Kíli, flinching as his voice began to tremble with passion. "We know not of home. We journey to _reclaim_ our home."

The she-elf's eyes had gone soft and her mouth formed a hard line. Kíli remained silent, sensing that he had touched upon something that greatly affected her. Then a voice, echoing down from somewhere high above them, interrupted their exchange.

"_Tula sinome, Tauriel_."

The she-elf swiftly arose, turning her attention upward. Kíli's gaze followed suit, and his ears grew hot as he looked upon yet another familiar elf face. This elf had been a large part of their early attack on the dwarves, and he seemed to be highly ranking among his people. He wasn't the king, Kíli was certain, but there was a great possibility that he fell somewhere closely beneath that title.

"_Tula, vasa ar' yulna en i'mereth_." The male elf continued tersely, speaking directly to the she-elf. Kíli, though not versed in Sindarin, could discern a slight irritation laced within the elf's voice.

"_Amin tulien_, hîr nín _Legolas_." The she-elf responded, shooting Kíli a cautioned glance. The dwarf prince swallowed dryly as she turned and made for the stairway.

"Tauriel?" Kíli called after her, hoping that he had successfully made his way through the strange, unfamiliar elven language and caught wind of her name correctly. The she-elf paused, glancing back toward him with surprise. Kíli grinned with delight, barely containing his excitement. "I am Kíli."

Tauriel, as he now knew her, nodded her head cordially. Then, in a way so swiftly that only an elf could be graceful, she straightened her shoulders and continued her escape. Kíli watched after her as she ascended the stairs, his heart feeling heavier with every passing moment.

"Careful, lad." Balin cautioned from the cell adjacent to Kíli's, feeling it was due time that he asserted himself.

Kíli's ears twitched and his tongue twisted playfully within his mouth as he took the elder dwarf's warning to heart.

"Do not worry, Balin," said Kíli, pressing his forehead into the bars of his encloser while wearing a foolish grin, "if she falls in love with me, perhaps she will let us out."

Somewhere to his left, hidden within a separate cell, Kíli could hear the familiar chords of Fíli's amused chuckle.

* * *

Kíli's eyes shot open as his breath furiously erupted past his dry, cracked lips with a long and painful gasp. Reality tugged him achingly forward as his dream world faded rapidly away, leading the dwarf prince back onto the frozen and empty terrace of Ravenhill.

_No…_

Kili pleaded with the sky as his vision cleared, revealing his lonely state on the platform. A fierce panic flooding like an all-consuming storm throughout the dwarf prince's body as he recalled the last cognizant moments of his life; the moments where he had watched, horrified and helplessly, as Tauriel and Bolg had toppled over the edge of the tower.

The jarred dwarf prince rolled slowly onto his knees, ignoring the aches of his back as they cried out in protest, and he made his way towards the end of the tower, crawling through the dispersing fog. He curled his hands protectively around the lip of the cliff, leaning as far forward as his balance would allow, scanning his eyes tirelessly down the long descend. Disheartened by his failure to catch sight of Tauriel, a worrisome chill twisted through the base of Kíli's spine as he feared the absolute worst…

A sudden discordant sound of giant beating wings tugged the dwarf prince's eyes upward and away from their futile search. _I know that sound…_ Kíli peered up towards the sky in mild confusion as three enormous birds made their way towards the still raging battle, soaring against the brisk wintry air into the heart of Dale. _The Eagles..._

His chest filled with a warm ambition at the sight of the large, flying allies; perchance they would reverse the war into a victorious outcome.

With new inspiration Kíli brought his hands onto his knees, drawing himself upwards with a cautioned wince. He was immediately delighted to discover that standing upward proved to be less painful than he had anticipated and he silently thanked Mahal for the hardiness of dwarves. With a steady heart he then gathered up his weapons, along with what remained of his waning strength, and burst into a sprint towards the twisting halls of the crumbling fortress.

Kíli's bow was drawn with anticipation as he crept quietly through the tower, eager to reach Ravenhill's base and reunite with his kin. He managed to shoot down three goblins as he moved, despite his mind's loud and incessant inquiries that refused to be ignored; how long had he been paralyzed and lost within the walls of his own mind? Would Thorin and Fíli still be engaged in battle? Did Bolg survive the fall? Did Tauriel…

_Tauriel is fine._

Kíli's gut wrenched violently as he recalled the image of the beautiful she-elf lying in agony at the bottom of the wall with Bolg's knife-like mace raised high above her head with a deadly promise.

"Tauriel is fine." He repeated aloud, intending to chase the image away with the sternness of his voice. As he spoke a dark shadow unexpectedly flashed across the stone walls of the stairway below him, cutting the distance surprisingly quickly. Much quicker, he noted, than any goblin ever could.

Kíli held his breath and rooted his feet into the ground as he pulled tightly back on the string of his bow, his fingers now itching to release the arrow into the heart of his approaching enemy. He watched in silence as the shadow shifted left, then right, then darted aggressively upward, making its ascend across the final flight of stairs between them.

The dwarf prince flinched as the offender rounded the final corner, welcoming Kíli with a golden-tipped arrow pointed squarely between his dark brown eyes.

"Kíli," Tauriel said softly, releasing her bated breath.

Kíli offered her an amused smile as they both lowered their bows, mirroring relief.

"You have wasted an awful lot of time saving me if you plan to kill me now." He said with a smirk.

Tauriel twitched the corners of her mouth upward in response, though it was an overtly tired attempt. The beautiful she-elf appeared uncharacteristically weary and she had long past spent her vigor; evidently only gathering enough power to climb through Ravenhill's towers to find him.

"Are you badly injured?" Asked Kíli softly, noting the gash on her right temple with concern.

"I will manage." Tauriel assured, squaring her shoulders and feigning stability. "And you?"

"I have never felt better." Kíli insisted, taking a step toward her as his hands began to tremble.

Despite their stubborn pride, both the dwarf prince and the she-elf were plainly exhausted.

A cold wind lashed inward from the broken window to their left, whipping Tauriel's fiery hair wildly around her in an otherworldly kind of way. The sight of it gave the she-elf an ethereal look that dismantled Kíli's poise entirely, causing his heart to drum loudly within his ears.

Wetting his lips, the dwarf prince whispered with longing, "Tauriel…"

Tauriel began to shoot Kíli a calculating look, but the adoring beam within his eyes managed to sway her emotions. With a flush the she-elf gestured down the stairwell behind her and murmured, "we must lea-"

With little time to react Kíli promptly lifted his bow up towards the she-elf's head and released an arrow into the throat of a pouncing goblin. The vile creature crumbled to the ground in a sputtering heap as it choked down the black blood now dripping from its lips, managing to release a loud, shrill cry before Tauriel silenced it with her dagger. Both the dwarf prince and she-elf exchanged dismal, grim looks as the alerting cry echoed throughout the tower's hallways.

Kíli took a shuddering breath inward as a horde of goblins poured in through both the front and back entrances of the small enclosure, thrashing and swinging their way towards the unsuspecting pair.

Tauriel was quick to react by fleetly rolling forward, ducking beneath the slash of a goblin's blade, and pressing her back firmly against Kíli's. Like a well-oiled machine the duo activated the speed of their individual bow skills, dropping orc's left and right as the creatures viciously rushed into the room. Kíli's arms began to burn as he pulled arrows from his quiver, one by one, while listening with mindful ears to the bloodshed caused by the she-elf battling behind him. The room filled with the raucous screams and hisses of countless goblins as they fell quickly and painfully to their deaths; yet Kíli found comfort within the familiar, rhythmic sound of his bow string as it hummed with every stretch and release, despite the strident sounds of the tiring battle. And eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the bombardment ultimately came to a quiet and tranquil ending.

Kíli leaned himself gingerly into Tauriel's back, succumbing to his exhaustion while laboriously breathing. His hands fell tiredly at his sides, one clutching loosely to his bow and the other remaining empty. The she-elf stood silently behind him and placed three tired fingers against his empty, quivering palm in a reassuring gesture.

"War still rages. Where are your people?" Tauriel pressed in a tired whisper. Kíli gasped at the mention of his kin with a grim expression and then hooked his hand around Tauriel's forearm, leading her hastily around the pile of dead orc bodies at their feet.

Together they ran, through the icy hallways and down the winding stairwells, eventually traveling out onto the long stretch of muted ice where Kíli had watched his uncle and Azog's earlier battle take place. The smell of death welcomed them as they approached the silent battleground, and the dwarf prince's heart plummeted at the sight of the surrounding massacre; though he wasted no time in wading through the long, vast assortment of goblin bodies in search of a familiar face.

"FÍLI! THORIN!" He called out, watching as a slow stream of hot air floated listlessly up from his mouth and traveled out into the crisp sky. The snowy chill from the ice-covered lake brought a physical quiver up through Kíli's boots as he began to grow weak with despair and desperation. "Where - where is my uncle? Where is my brother…"

The dwarf prince fell into silence as Tauriel's warm hand dropped onto his shoulder, sending Kíli's stomach into a sour state. He glanced cautiously up to her with questioning eyes, fearing what he already knew, and he was urgently dispirited to see a ghastly, transparent paleness to the she-elf's face as she nodded towards the edge of the lake. Kíli hesitantly drew his gaze out to where the water lapped lazily against the icy earth, and his greatest fears morphed into the harshest of realities when his eyes found Fíli's body.

"No! NO!" The dwarf prince cried out, dropping his bow as he darted across the ice and slid to his knees alongside his brother's motionless body. Kíli took Fíli's head gently up into his arms and he pulled his brother close, rocking back and forth as an uncontrollable shiver overwhelmed his entire body. "No… Fíli… Fíli! You can't - you can't do this! You _can't_ leave me! Look at me… _please_."

Tauriel was quick at his heels, kneeling down beside Kili and lifting Fíli's bloodied hand up into her own.

Kíli fought back rising tears as Tauriel examined a fresh, deep gash that traveled deeply along the blonde dwarf's arm. The she-elf's concerned expression shifted as she touched Fíli's warm skin, noting how it still pulsed with the faint drum of life. "He is alive," she said with certainty, ripping at the fabric along the bottom of her green military garb before fastening the cloth into a makeshift tourniquet. Kíli offered her a thankful glance as he gripped Fíli's other hand, trapping it protectively between his palms.

"I'm here, Fee." He whispered lowly, more-so to himself.

The sudden jarring sound of a pebble rolling aimlessly across the ice brought both Kíli and Tauriel cautiously to their feet, causing Kíli to halfway draw his sword in preparation for yet _another_ battle. And, in truth, he wasn't sure he had the strength for many more thrashings on this day…

"Sheathe your weapon, _dwarf_."

Both Kíli and Tauriel relaxed as the silhouette of Legolas cleared among the fog, looking slightly disheveled but also queerly intact. The tall elf made his way elegantly towards them, gliding over the ample collection of goblin bodies and black blood that draped across the ice, and he glanced down upon Fíli's body with a noticeable wince.

"Thorin has fallen." Legolas said at last, speaking to Tauriel but flicking his gaze onto Kíli with a meager, true sadness. "Even so, the battle is won."

Kíli's jaw tightened as he stared down at his brother with a poisonous mixture of both relief and anguish; hot, stinging tears collecting at the corners of his hazel eyes as he watched Fíli's chest calmly rise and fall with each labored breath.

With a gentle caution Kíli once again knelt forward and reached for his brother's hand, surprised to discover a rain of salty drops landing softly atop the fabric of Fíli's light armor. Uncontrollable, heavy, sobs suddenly followed suit, breaking free from Kíli's chest as he fell helplessly victim to the overwhelming exhaustion that engulfed his quivering body. Kíli drew Fíli's hand slowly up to his face and pressed it lovingly against his forehead, frozen by the painful realization that their lives were now altered forever; for it was now apparent to Kíli that Fíli would soon awaken, battered and warn, as the new King under the Mountain.

* * *

**A/N:** The Elven exchange between Legolas and Tauriel was found (both online and through the movies) and translates (roughly) into:

"Come here, Tauriel. Come, eat and drink of the feast."

"I am coming, my lord Legolas."


	2. Alliance

**Alliance** – The act of allying or state of being allied.

Tauriel's heart contracted with grief as agony devoured Kíli's mien like an all-consuming force; and she watched with discomfort as the dwarf prince caved down onto his knees, bowing into the frigid ice alongside his wounded brother. As the she-elf watched, heartbroken at the sight of his misery, she noticed Kíli beginning to shrink deeper and deeper into the depths of his own despairs.

In contempt of knowing that Fíli would survive, Tauriel understood where the roots of the dwarf prince's pains truly prevailed; for death had still achieved its ultimate goal in a separate form on this day.

As Kíli cried into his brother's hand Tauriel longed to reach out and pull him close; fighting away his anguish with her affectionate touch. And she may have done it – despite knowing that such an act would completely ruin them – had it not been for Legolas and his unwavering eyes. Instead, and with great effort, Tauriel backed herself slowly away from the dwarves, eventually planting her feet neatly alongside her silver-haired companion as he examined Durin's heirs at a distance.

There was a haunting silence that floated listlessly above the lake, broken only by the sounds of Kíli's shaky, uncontrollable sobs. His trembling gasps managed to send a paralyzing chill down and around the she-elf's spine, awakening memories of loss that she had long-since suppressed deep within the hidden cells of her heart.

For a long while the two elves stood, like unmoving statuesque guardians, protectively watching over Kíli and Fíli with vigilance. And time slipped gently by, blatantly unconcerned for the matters that troubled men, dwarves, elves, or orcs, as it drove the clouds and shifted the trees.

The silence that surrounded them left an undesirable span of time for Tauriel's mind to soundlessly race, and deep within her thoughts raged a terrible, unfaltering war. What would become of her now that she was branded as a lowly Silvan elf, banished from Mirkwood by her former king? What would become of Kíli, the reckless younger brother to the newly-appointed King of Erebor? When would Tauriel accept these outcomes, and leave the dwarves to discover their unexplored and unfamiliar futures? When the appropriate time presented itself, would she be capable of abandoning the dwarves? Would she be capable of abandoning _him_…?

With a frustrated sigh, and a refusal to permit her internal torments to rampage any further, Tauriel slammed her eyes tightly shut and balled her hands into strong fists at her sides. She would _not_ allow herself to fall victim to these fruitless temptations. She would _not_ succumb to the weaknesses of her heart. She would _not_ let foolish, unwarranted desires take hold of her future…

The alarming sensation of fingers brushing lightly against the skin at her knuckles forced Tauriel's lids to flash open, and her eyes flicked onto Legolas' face with a rising confusion.

Her stomach flipped as the elven prince's familiar, crystal gaze stared deep into her soul, overflowing with empathy. Legolas offered her a smile as if to say, _everything is going to be alright_, and she found herself physically stunned by the overwhelming intimacy of the moment.

For three-hundred years Tauriel had fought at Legolas' side, loyal almost to a fault. Many battles had been won and many elven lives had been lost, on this day and long before. And yet, despite the countless deaths and losses that her and Legolas had suffered through in unity – and despite the many times that Legolas had sacrificed his life for hers – Tauriel could not be comforted by the compassion he held within his gaze.

Instead, as Legolas looked upon her with sincere admiration, Tauriel could not help the flick of her emerald-colored eyes as they shifted with longing onto Kíli. And in that brief, fleeting moment she had led on far, _far_ too much of her heart…

Troubled by the absurdity within her own aberrant actions, Tauriel bit down upon lower lip and shied away from Legolas' touch, pulling her hands up and around herself in a cradling motion.

Legolas may have said her name, low and beneath his breath, but her ears were distracted by another promising tone.

"Kíli!" A voice called to the left, causing Tauriel's eyes to snap cautiously onto the source of the sound. She recognized the white-haired dwarf who approached, recalling his name as Balin, and a flood of relief rushed throughout the she-elf's body as a group of six dwarven warriors barreled hurriedly in tow.

Finally, she deliberated silently to herself, appropriate help had arrived.

Kíli's disheveled hair whipped wildly about him as he reacted to the sound of his name, rising to his feet and turning to face his approaching kin. He wiped the back of his right sleeve against his raw, frozen cheeks, freeing them of the tears that ruddied his ordinarily pale skin, and his mouth caved upwards into a half-grin.

The six dwarves were quick to spring into action; moving a long, wooden trundle towards Fíli's unmoving body and placing it alongside him with a series of grunts and groans. At first, they deliberated amongst themselves on how best they should move the battered prince, then gently they began to shift and arrange his body onto the platform with precision. Several curses and warnings to "be careful" erupted from within their assembly, until finally they succeeded in lifting the blonde prince up into the air.

"Let us help you." Tauriel insisted kindly as the dwarves shuffled hurriedly past them, balancing their fallen prince between a few dwarves from Thorin's Company and a few dwarves from Dain Ironfoot's army.

"You needn't worry yourself, lass, we've got him." Balin said with a smile, though his eyes warned her of another, more serious matter.

Despite their rejections, and Balin's meaningful countenance, Tauriel moved to catch one of Fíli's legs as it shifted lazily off of the edge of the trundle.

Immediately following this contributive act a very short and gruff looking dwarf, who was a product of Dain Ironfoot's army by the design of his armor, pulled a long, silver dagger from deep within the protection of his pocket. He held it against the green fabric of Tauriel's tunic with warning, pressing it angrily into her abdomen.

Tauriel's hands instinctively lifted and she took a tentative step backwards, feeling Legolas shift uncomfortably at her side. She could sense the elf prince's well-practiced fingers fly onto the hilt of his knife, in the very same moment that the dwarf's sword had been drawn, but something had steadied his hand.

In the blink of an eye, the dwarven dagger was aggressively slapped free from the unsuspecting dwarf's grasp, causing everyone to turn and face the attacker with surprise.

Tauriel's lips formed into a hard line as she looked upon Kíli; his dark, bloodshot eyes staring with a menacing caution onto the shorter, completely offended dwarf.

"If you do that again," Kíli warned, in a voice that trembled with exhaustion, "m_'imnu Durin, ohr_ _an urtag leib…" _

"_Kulhu saglibi?" _The shorter dwarf spoke, wincing as he rubbed gingerly against the tender skin of his hand. Tauriel noticed the sensitive area beginning to swell and redden where Kíli had smacked his wrist with precision, proving that the impact had been vigorously executed.

Kíli took a protective step in front of Tauriel, his fists balling tightly at his sides, and he leaned forward until his chest towered above the shorter dwarf's head. _"Ag zasasmaki rathkh-hund." _

The she-elf was lost among the dwarven exchange, as their conversation had shifted from basic into Khuzdul, but she could tell that their traded dialogue was not moving in the direction of a civil conversation.

Fortunately, Dwalin, another dwarf that Tauriel recognized from within Thorin's Company, stepped swiftly between the two quarreling dwarves, placing a firm hand against Kíli's chest while shooting the shorter dwarf a stern glare. A silent conversation took place within their glances until eventually the smaller dwarf bowed his head gracefully forward, widening his arms in a surrendering gesture.

"_Burushruka igbulul e." _He spoke firstly to Kíli, then glanced up at Tauriel. "My apologies, _Elf_."

Tauriel's mouth dropped open, ready to speak, but her voice faltered as Legolas hooked his hand around her arm, silencing her with his touch.

"Tauriel," He started, voice demanding that she look at him. Stubbornly and with much hesitation Tauriel flicked her eyes onto her former prince, anticipating his pained expression as it welcomed her in full. Legolas took a moment to float his eyes off to the left of Tauriel, focusing them with disdain around Kíli's shorter head, before returning his gaze onto her and continuing. "Let us take our leave of the dwarves. Dale may yet need clearing."

There was a tense, thick silence wherein Tauriel challenged Legolas with her eyes; knowing as well as he did that this ruse was _much_ deeper than that of aiding Dale.

Kíli turned and caught Tauriel safely within his gaze, and she could discern his apparent grief hovering just below the surface.

After a span, he spoke, his voice full of tribulation. "Will you come with me?"

Legolas dropped his hand from Tauriel's arm, letting out a terse breath of air.

Her ear twitched in response to the irritated sound, but her eyes sank deeply into Kíli's gentle, brown stare with a tenderness she could not resist. She teetered on the verge of doubling over in torment as Kíli took a tentative step towards her, disregarding the audience of dwarves that pierced dagger-like glances into his back.

_Valar, why do you afflict me?_

Dwalin made a very loud and _very_ disgruntled sound directly behind Kíli as he darted his eyes from Tauriel, to Kíli, then back onto Tauriel again. His hairless scalp glistened with a combination of melted snow and fresh sweat, and his demeanor darkened as he shot the she-elf a look full of stern warnings. Tauriel stared back at the disgruntled dwarf for a moment, offering him an informal agreement, then turned her attention back onto Kíli with a riddled look full of severe tribulations. At long last, she respired quietly, "I can't."

Tauriel had half expected the dwarf prince to argue but his composure remained steadfast and strong, and she was satisfied to discover that he had internally accepted their plight. His full lips twisted up into a devoted smile and his brown, tender eyes grew with promise as he slowly backed away.

And with that, the group of nine dwarves departed with agile speed in pursuit of Erebor.

Without breathing a word to her former prince, Tauriel turned on her feet and began to move in the direction of Dale, fully aware that Legolas was quick on her heels. And for a while he trailed behind, assuredly staring at the back of her auburn head while contemplating whether or not he should assert himself. Though, regardless of his internal battles, he never risked the gamble of a comment.

The road to Dale was covered with death, overspread with the bodies of fallen warriors from each varying alliance; black blood pooled into puddles of red, and un-seeing eyes stared blankly up towards the heavens from frozen, petrified faces. And these images, familiar to Tauriel from wars and battles past, never ceased to unsettle her.

While the pair swiftly traveled, determined to reach Dale as quickly as possible, several Mirkwood elves stopped to acknowledge Legolas and to offer their prince support in whatever way they could. As each one approached, promptly bowing before him, Legolas was quick to insist that they continue with their more pressing tasks, such as finding survivors and tending to the wounded. At one point, Legolas even dared to suggest that one elven guard "aid to more dwarves".

At this uncharacteristic suggestion Tauriel made a face that sought to betray her, and Legolas acknowledged it with narrow eyes.

"Do not look at me like that," he respired, avoiding her gaze. "I do not wish ill fates upon all of the dwarves."

"Just some?" She challenged, though her heart ached as the words surfaced and she wished that she could retract them as quickly as she had spout them. "I am sorry, I do not mean that."

Legolas paused in his gait to look at her face, and it was a grief-stricken, melancholy sort of look that tugged at the strings of Tauriel's heart. "Yes, you do."

* * *

Dale was alarmingly peaceful, save for the occasional sounds of joyous outbursts that could be heard from deep within the city walls as families reunited and victorious exclamations were cried out. For a town that had just undergone such destruction and murder, Tauriel considered, there was an infectious merriment among the men and women of Dale that touched her to the core.

As she and Legolas moved throughout the town, as silently and swiftly as dark shadows, they were unnoticed by most people. This held true, up until the familiar face of Bard the Bargeman came into view as the ebony-haired man rounded a corner before them. He held his blade high and his eyes remained wide with an unquieted anticipation, until he focused his gaze upon the two elves and brightened.

The sound of broad wings fighting against the cold, wintery winds brought Tauriel's eyes upward, and she watched with satisfaction as the Great Eagles began their retreat toward the far-reaches of Middle Earth. That was a good sign, she decided, for it assuredly meant that the battle was officially over.

"Impeccable timing for The Eagles to arrive…" said Bard, gesturing towards the sky as several warm rays of sunlight broke free through the clouds.

"We've come to offer you aid." Legolas said, stretching his hand outward with cordial intentions. "What do you need?"

"The last of the enemy has fallen within Dale, my people are safe. We require no aid here." Bard responded, clasping Legolas' hand tightly within his own while nodding to Tauriel in greeting. "Has Ravenhill been cleared?"

"It has." Tauriel said, returning the acknowledgement, though her skin prickled and crawled as she recollected her earlier battle.

"Then victory truly is ours." Said Bard, sheathing his weapon with triumphant prowess and offering them both a jubilant smile. The trio exchanged quick glances, understanding that victory came at a cost. "How are your people?"

Legolas wavered onto his heels, shifting his brow with displeasure. "Wars are never won lightly."

Bard nodded while studying Legolas' face with a frown. "And what of the dwarves?"

Tauriel quirked an eyebrow, unable to contain her surprise.

She had not expected this man to care for the well-being of the dwarves; after all, it was Thorin Oakenshield's quest – and his quest _alone_ – that had brought such destruction and misery upon Lake Town and its former inhabitants. And had it not been for the foolishness and irrationality of dwarves – as Thranduil had once so _eloquently_ put it – many lives would have been spared on this day.

In truth, Tauriel anticipated Bard to dislike – or even _despise_ – the dwarves now; but he did not exhibit such aversions.

The she-elf opened her mouth to respond, but it was Legolas who ultimately answered the bowman's inquiry. "Their king has fallen. They suffer a great loss."

Bard cursed beneath his breath as a sincere sadness glazed across his soft, brown eyes. "We _all_ suffer a great loss, then."

A slow flow of relief trickled throughout Tauriel's body as the genuine kindness within Bard's heart forced an uncontrollable smile to tug across her lips.

"Indeed, we have." A familiar voice interjected, causing the trio to turn in unison.

Mithrandir, or Gandalf the Grey as he was more commonly known, approached them with glistening eyes. His face was ashen and painted with blood, some belonging to him and some belonging to fallen enemies, and his expression was faint and sad. Gandalf placed a heavy hand upon Bard's broad shoulder, a warm smile spreading across his weary, thin cheeks, and he looked to them each in turn. "I am glad to see you all… in good health."

"_Mithrandir_." Legolas said, his narrowed eyes scanning across the wizard's tired face. "It is good to see you."

"Legolas." Gandalf replied in greeting before shifting his attention onto Tauriel. He examined her for a lasting moment, wherein he appeared to be searching through the faces of his past to place a name upon her. "And… Tauriel? It has been an age since last we met."

Tauriel caved her head forward, closing her eyes in a humble agreement. It _had_ been an age. And it was not an encounter she was particularly fond of reliving…

"Four-hundred years, I understand."

Bard made a noise that resembled surprise, which provoked a smile from Gandalf.

The wizard then waved his staff-bearing hand through the crisp, billowing air, and twisted his head to look over his shoulder onto a much smaller body. "Regrettably, we do not have time for pleasantries now. Come along, Bilbo."

It wasn't until now that Tauriel took notice of the small, fair-haired hobbit, who shifted quietly among the shadows of Gandalf's path. His demeanor was full of distress and his wide amber eyes weighed heavy with grief; and Tauriel's mind began to stutter as images of Kíli, and his very similar miseries, flashed across her mind.

At the sound of his name Bilbo glanced up toward Gandalf with a newly awoken spirit. "Where are we going?"

"To Erebor. To console what remains of our Company." Replied Gandalf in a gruff, yet somehow gentle, voice.

"I-I do not think I am ready for that…" Bilbo mumbled, more-so to himself.

Gandalf tilted his head to the side, an understanding sadness buried deep within the silver outline of his gaze. "No one is ever prepared for grieving, my dear friend." The hobbit furrowed his brow and twitched his nose, staring back at Gandalf with a stubbornness that Tauriel had only witnessed within dwarves, resolved to remain silent. The wizard knelt forward and placed two comforting hands atop Bilbo's narrow shoulders and further expanded, "nevertheless, it is what's required of us."

Bilbo inhaled heavily and puffed his chest outward, as far as his ribcage would allow, before nodding in silent agreement. The unlikely pair then slowly sauntered away, leaving an air of sorrow in their wake.

"Battlefields are no place for child-folk." Bard commented, breaking the stillness.

"Or the young at heart." Legolas added, and he and Tauriel exchanged quick glances.

_Assuredly he could not be referring to Kíli? _She thought, feeling a frustration beginning to brew within her belly as she understood the answer.

"_My Lord, Legolas_!" A voice spoken in Sindarin called out, suppressed by the sounds of a horse's thundering hooves.

Tauriel swallowed dryly as she glanced upon the elven guard who rode hastily toward them atop a gray, snorting steed. When the elf emissary was upon the three allies he reigned the horse to a halt, eyeing Tauriel with confliction before turning his attention onto Legolas. "Y_our father searches for you_."

Legolas took several steps forward and nodded to the elf guard in greeting before tilting his head towards Tauriel. "_Very well_. _Let us go, Tauriel_."

"_My Lord_," the elf started, voice abashed, "a_ssuredly you have not forgotten that Tauriel is_…"

"Banished." The she-elf finished, squaring her shoulders.

Bard, though certainly lost within their elven conference, flicked his eyes tentatively onto Tauriel. She flushed, knowing that he well understood the fundamental meaning behind their exchange.

A silence fell amongst them as Legolas glanced indignantly toward the ground, pressing his lips into a hard line.

Tauriel suppressed the rising urge to console him; for she was fully aware that the notion would not be well-received by Legolas, despite how earnest it may be.

After a long stretch of stillness, the elven prince brought his gaze back up towards the messenger, eyes rife with passion. "I have no words for my father. You may tell him–"

"You may tell him yourself."

Tauriel inwardly shied as the crass, familiar voice of Thranduil sounded off from behind her.

She turned to discover the elven king calmly approaching them with the same steely expression he always wore, callously eyeing the triumvirate of weary onlookers with amusement. His face, so celestial, showed little evidence of the battles he had undoubtedly endured, which proved to be both disturbing and intriguing.

Thranduil's fierce, crystal blue eyes bore their way deep into his son's emotionless face, then flicked onto Tauriel, where his countenance instantaneously hardened.

Legolas stiffened and relaxed a series of times, staring at his father with an impassive expression. Long strands of silver hair brushed softly against his face, acting as a gentle reminder that time was still passing them by. Finally, the elven prince spoke, in a breathless voice, "I … cannot go back."

Tauriel clinched her jaw as her composure began to abandon her. She stared at the thin lips around Legolas' mouth, wishing that she could physically reach out and grab the words he had spilled and force them back into a thought. _Do not do this, Legolas…_

"I understand that," Thranduil responded to his son coolly, his crowned head inclining to the side, "_I would speak with you, alone_."

His response baffled Tauriel, and she released a bated gasp. She had learned, over the past few days, that Thranduil was capable of being an elusive, cruel king - one devoid of any love or compassion - and she could not imagine a situation wherein Thranduil would willingly let Legolas go without dispute...

Legolas hesitated, taking a moment to shift his sights onto Tauriel while appearing to share the she-elf's same inner turmoil. Tauriel winced in response, unsure of what she could offer him that would be of any use. The elven prince then exhaled heavily before traipsing after his father, distancing their conversation from unwelcomed ears.

Tauriel watched after them with unwavering interest, feeling vulnerable as the realization of her current status began to take hold. Now that the bloodshed had ended and Kíli's misfortunes had come to a far-away resolution, Tauriel was left to do nothing else but contemplate her own dire circumstances. In a strange and ironic twist of fate, she found herself feeling as lost and broken as Thorin Oakenshield had; living without a home and existing without a purpose.

An alarming, unwelcomed sting of tears began to threaten the corners of Tauriel's eyes, and she was gladdened by the impeding cough that erupted from Bard's throat as he shifted cautiously towards her.

"I do not understand the lifestyles or the mannerisms of elves." Said the bowman, offering her a distraction while furrowing his brow. "Nonetheless, you are welcome to reside among my people, from this day until the end of your days."

Slow and numbing astonishment crept up and throughout Tauriel's body as Bard's generous offer sank into her ears. She wiped her hands swiftly across her cheeks, catching tears as they fell past her lashes, and turned to look upon the gracious man with fresh eyes. This was not the first-time that Bard had proven his generosity to her; for she had once witnessed him offer the dwarves safety and shelter, and she had observed his courageous sacrifice when he had bravely conquered the dragon Smaug.

He was, undoubtedly, a true treasure among men.

"Your generosity inspires me," she smiled, unable to contain herself as she reached forward and placed her hand gently upon his arm.

"You have done much to earn it," Bard acknowledged, with a sincerity so pure that it lightened her spirit. "I fear it is still an insufficient offering."

There was a pause before her answer, allowing Tauriel the time to collect her jumbled thoughts. To live among men would be an unexpected undertaking… though, she was quickly discovering that it was the impromptu adventures that seemed to ignite the flame within her heart.

"Only a truly honorable king would offer shelter to those who have none."

Bard's uncomfortable flinch as she labeled him 'king' did not go unnoticed by Tauriel.

"You protected my children when I could not." Bard said pointedly, steering the conversation onto a different topic. "And they think highly of you, which is a judgment I cherish."

"You have extraordinarily lovely children." Tauriel smiled, hoping that Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda were all three recovering from the horrors that this day had to offer.

"Aye," Agreed Bard, glancing up towards the magnificent sky in wonder, "and I thank the stars that they turned out to be such _perfect_ illustrations of their Mother."

A silence fell between them as Tauriel joined the bowman in looking up towards the heavens. The sun was finally setting, casting a warm, orange glow across the cluster of thick, snowy clouds, and it was a beautiful sight to behold. The first beautiful sight of a new beginning, Tauriel acknowledged.

After a few blissful moments, Bard continued in a pensive voice, "Consider my offer. We would do well with you among our ranks."

"Tauriel," Legolas murmured dolefully from behind, breaking the illusion of the intimate conversation between them. Tauriel turned to Legolas, obviously puzzled, and he continued. "He – my father wishes to speak with you. Though, you need not satisfy his desire."

Tauriel was disturbed to discover that Legolas appeared to be adrift; floating upon a cloud that Tauriel could not reach. What Thranduil could have possibly said to him, she did not know, but she greatly feared the possibilities of a similar outcome.

The she-elf stood between Bard and Legolas, shifting her weight from one foot onto the other, silently wondering if she possessed the mental strength to face her former king. She was banished, therefor no longer holding any loyalties to Thranduil, thus justly capable of denying him the courtesy of her company. She represented nothing more than a lowly Silvan elf now, adrift in the world with no purpose or reason. And assuredly he knew that.

_What does he desire? _

She inhaled slowly, glancing at Thranduil's back as the coral glimmer of the sunset outlined his tall and narrow frame. Perhaps it was due to her resolute curiosity, or perhaps it was the result of three-hundred years of servitude as captain of his royal guard; regardless of reasoning, Tauriel's feet carried her heavily toward Thranduil as he stood at the edge of the broken city.

As she approached, hesitant and guarded, the Woodland King did not turn to acknowledge her. Instead, he chose to stare in a muted silence, gravely observing the expansive battlefield and its vast stretch of destruction that spread out before him. Tauriel stood alongside her former king, soaking in the devastation that reached from one end of the battlefield to the other; from the start of Dale's bridge, all the way out to the royal, crumbling entrance of Erebor.

At length, Tauriel forced herself to glance up at her former king's face, and she was shocked to discover that his demeanor appeared to be _pained_. She found herself at a loss for words, for she could not begin to speculate what grandiose thoughts performed within the guarded walls of his ancient mind.

Finally, he started, his resonance as smooth as a blade, while refusing to offer the she-elf the civility of looking upon her. "Tell me how, despite my best efforts, you still managed to elude my protection?"

Tauriel's lips twitched as she stared with inquiry into the side of Thranduil's stoic face, willing him to look at her. She shifted her leather boots against the cobblestone ground, wishing that her feet had not betrayed her with their decision to bring her to him. Ultimately, she spoke, with a voice free of reverence, "I… do not understand."

Thranduil narrowed his brilliant blue eyes, still denying her the clarity of his gaze, and inhaled deeply.

"The dwarf prince. I attempted to sway you from him, three various times. First, I tried at securing you within the safety of our borders. Yet, you fled. Then I banished you, assuming your grief would draw you back for forgiveness. Still, you resisted." Finally, he turned to her, granting her the attentiveness of his eyes, with his voice breaching just above a whisper. Tauriel's breath hitched within her throat and she physically stiffened beneath his intense, severe stare. "I ventured to break you, even … thus you challenged me."

* * *

Tauriel had been moving swiftly throughout the broken city of Dale, her emerald eyes scanning desperately for her former king, when the goblins descended from the rafters above her.

The ambush had taken her by surprise, certainly, but the attack had been conducted by a measly troop of pitiless creatures, thus the she-elf spared little energy in defeating them. Soon, Tauriel was jerking her dagger free from the throat of the last dying goblin, watching in silence as the repugnant creature fell into a heap alongside the rest of its lifeless company.

That was easy enough, she calculated. But the true challenge still awaited her in the form a very _different_ kind of battle.

Tauriel sheathed the twin daggers at her sides and began to move with a fierce urgency deeper into the heart of the city, making her way central and towards the abandoned marketplace. As she curved the final corner, leading her straight into Dale's core, the she-elf's heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach as the familiar sound of a blaring horn impeded her feet. The horn blew – once, twice, three times – alerting the remaining Woodland Elves of Mirkwood to retreat. _No…_

Suddenly, the well-known march of armored boots parading to a familiar cadence across the cobblestone ground caused Tauriel to spin about on her heel. The slow winter's snow-fall brought an eerie ambience down around her pointed ears as she found herself gazing upon her former elven king, with his expeditious gait carrying him swiftly toward her.

_You will not flee_! She shouted within the privacy of her own mind. _You will not abandon them!_

Thranduil gave no notice of the steaming she-elf as he made his way across the deserted marketplace, failing to break pace as he cut down an attacking goblin that hurled itself toward his throat.

"_You will go no further_." Tauriel warned in the tongue of her people, voice unwavering. "You will not turn away. Not this time."

At last he stopped, momentarily dismayed by the sight of her.

"Get out of my way." Thranduil warned, his crystal eyes piercing through her like a sharpened blade.

Tauriel's chest tightened as the world caved in around her. She could tell now, by the way her former king stood before her, that there was no sympathy left within his archaic soul.

Tauriel pressed forward, with a voice that trembled. "The dwarves will be slaughtered!"

"Yes, they will die." Thranduil agreed, beginning to move slowly towards her; and Tauriel's heart sank further and further with each and every word that followed. "Today. Tomorrow. One year hence, a hundred years from now."

Thranduil was within arm's length of her now, reminding her of how small and insignificant she was as he towered above her. She stared up at him, through crimson strands of hair that billowed across her face, and her eyes began to fill with tears that she did not restrain.

Thranduil's upper lip curled as he leaned into her, disgusted by the emotion that flashed across her face. He was very close now, sharing in the same frigid, winter air, and their dense proximity frightened her.

"What does it matter?" He inquired, lifting his pale hand and brushing it through the weightless air for emphasis. "They are mortal."

Tauriel never conceived of a day when she would challenge her former king.

And yet, with a fire that engulfed her entire heart, Tauriel took an abrupt step backwards and drew her bow with well-trained hands; pointing it directly into the center of Thranduil's face.

"You think your life is worth more than theirs when there is no love in it!?" She cried out, unfazed by the natural reaction of two elven guards as they mirrored her threat; aiming golden-tipped arrows into the heart of her chest.

Tears began to pour, like a warm, dreary rainfall, down the sides of Tauriel's blushing cheeks. "There is no love in you!"

"What do you know of love? Nothing!" Thranduil's hand swept up and over the back of her bow, knocking the weapon free from her hands and sending it to the ground with a loud vibration. Tauriel's breath hitched as Thranduil unsheathed his famed sword and brought the polished blade up to her breast, pressing it against her. "What you feel for that dwarf is _not_ real. You think it is love?"

His eyes flicked momentarily past her, landing atop something far beyond their reach.

Tauriel could feel her hands beginning to tremble as the pressure of Thranduil's blade moved into her, threatening to plunge past her tunic and into her chest.

She felt helpless and afraid – though, not just for herself; for she knew now, without uncertainty, that Thranduil was _not_ the great king that she had once believed him to be… and the dwarves would soon perish as a result.

After a moment of stillness Thranduil lowered his sword from Tauriel's breast and quirked an eyebrow, satisfaction suddenly dripping like acid from his voice as he whispered. "Are you ready to die for it?"

Tauriel's chest caved as Thranduil retracted his sword and she craned her neck to follow his gaze onto the expanding stretch of ruin behind her. A gasping cry fell from the she-elf's lips as a wave of ravens poured out from within the halls of Ravenhill, unveiling the horrors of her fears.

_Kíli!_

"_Tauriel_," a voice spoken in Sindarin cooed from around the corner.

Tauriel breathed a gasp of relief to observe Legolas; his glittering eyes holding her as he bent forward to lift her fallen bow from the ground. He straightened and offered the weapon forward, balancing it between his fair hands. "I will go with you."

With that, Tauriel snatched her bow from Legolas' grip and pushed past him in pursuit of Ravenhill, resolved to never look back.

* * *

Tauriel's lower lip trembled as she recalled their previous confrontation, and anger clouded her feelings as she watched Thranduil's acute gaze fill with an abrupt delight.

"Perhaps it _is_ real." He said, with a resigned smile. "Do not forget where your allegiance lies within the coming age."

"My allegiance had always belonged to my people. To _you_." Tauriel hissed, aghast by the boldness of his statement. "Do not forget that it is _you_ who has banished _me_."

"I have seen the errors in my ways. Still, many errors…" Thranduil respired, twisting his body to face her in full. Tauriel could say nothing. She simply stared up into the eyes of her former king, absorbed by the foreign tenderness he held within his gaze. Thranduil lifted a narrow brow before his expression cleared entirely. "Live among the men of Dale, Tauriel. Live among the dwarves. Live among those who do not share the same fortunes as you."

_Fortunes, _she repeated within her mind, _I have been absolved of fortunes!_ "You speak of immortality as if it is a gift."

"It is not a gift." He corrected, speaking in a detached tone.

She considered his words for a brief moment, knowing that Thranduil's bitter past had an impact on his opinions of this matter.

Suddenly – and certainly out of line from what Tauriel understood to be his natural character – Thranduil lifted his hand up to the side of Tauriel's face, tenderly capturing her cheek against the warmth of his palm. It was an act that he had not performed in over three hundred years; not since she had been a child, crouching amongst the forest leaves in terror.

He began to speak, though his voice flowed past her as if recalling a memory. "Mithrandir speaks of dark times ahead. Dark times that will require strange allies. I anticipate that you will form a great bond between men, dwarves, and elves; and with it, an allegiance that will prove itself invaluable. Then, when the appropriate time presents itself, you will return to your people."

Tauriel felt youthful again; like a foolish child staring up at her father. With a wince, she pulled away from the heat of his touch. "I-I do not wish to return to my people."

Thranduil dropped his hand and clasped it against the other at his front. He inhaled deeply, drawing into his lungs what Tauriel assumed to be patience. "I understand that, on this day, you do not wish to return." He started, inclining his head and causing the sunset's glow to cast through the gaps of his crown. He then drew his eyes onto the horizon and whispered in Sindarin, "y_ou may be able to save the dwarf from many things, Tauriel; orcs, spiders, even poison. But you cannot save him from time." _

Once, long ago, Tauriel had watched her family perish. And the pain of their passing, though strong and persistent, never succeeded in bringing her to her demise. Instead, it had shown her that memories were precious; and that love could not be weighed by the span of its existence.

With a flush, Tauriel shook her head and murmured, "_Time has a wonderful way of showing us what truly matters_."

A smile began to spread across Thranduil's lips, and it was a warm smile that Tauriel had never viewed before. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the moment was gone, and within its absence the elven king began his departure.

Tauriel's jawline stiffened and she watched from the corner of her eye as he moved, floating away from her with an airy gait.

"You spoke of an alliance. A bond between men dwarves, and elves…" she called after him, still staring into the warmth of the sunset. "I alone am burdened with the task of forming this union?"

"You are not alone." Thranduil whispered, his voice fading fast.

Tauriel twisted about to face her former king, intending to stare upon him with lush green eyes that brimmed with disbelief, but he was nowhere to be found.

* * *

When Tauriel returned, haunted by Thranduil's words, she was gladdened to see that Legolas and Bard were busily engaged within a pleasant conversation. A conversation, she noted with a heavy heart, that had failed to pull Legolas back from his deep, yearning behavior. There was hardly an expression that Legolas could produce that would go unnoticed by Tauriel. And she could discern by the way he stood – with his shoulders held back and his bright eyes anxiously scanning the horizon – that he soon meant to depart.

"Where will you go?" Tauriel asked, impeding Legolas' parting mannerisms as she arrived at his side.

"North. To find the Dúnedain." Legolas responded, rocking backwards onto his heels and shooting her an insightful look. His eyes softened with a fondness that she had grown to anticipate. "I do not expect that you will follow."

Tauriel bit down on her tongue and narrowed her eyes, undecided on how to answer him. She knew, now more than ever, where she belonged within Middle Earth; but she had not yet prepared herself for that impending discussion.

"The Dúnedain?" Bard mouthed with surprise, drawing their attention. "That is a distant travel. I would not see you off without a meal."

Legolas made a face, running his thumb beneath the strap at his chest that held his beloved bow in place. "It is not necessary-"

"Ah, but it _is_. Come then." Insisted Bard, cutting over Legolas' words as he turned to head back into the deeper regions of the city.

This elicited a small smile from Tauriel, and she exchanged a quick glance with Legolas. After a span, they both resolved to follow after the bowman, and the she-elf was comforted by the knowledge that she would soon be serving under a king who knew not how to be cruel.

* * *

**A/N:** The dwarven exchange between Kíli and the dwarf warrior from Dain Ironfoot's army translates (roughly) into:

"In Durin's name, I will hurt you"

"What did you say?"

"You will taste my knuckle soon." Which essentially means, "You're going to get a beating soon."

"I'm sorry."


	3. Love

**Love **– A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

**O**ne** D**ay **E**arlier…

Kíli slowly lowered himself down onto the bench beneath Bard the Bargeman's window, drawing in a sharp breath of air through tightly clenched teeth as he moved.

When the arrow had first pierced through Kíli's skin, the intense, burning pain of the assault had literally brought the young prince onto his knees. He had never been severely injured like this before – let alone _shot_ – and he had not anticipated the complications that would undoubtedly follow, shortly thereafter. Despite his natural decline in health, however, Kíli began to suspect that the goblin's arrow may have caused far more devastation than he or Óin originally had suspected.

And he knew, without seeing, that the condition of his injury was undeniably worse than before.

Once Kíli had adjusted himself into a _somewhat_ comfortable position he flicked his eyes tentatively down onto the bloodied cloth at his thigh, flinching with anticipation. With hands that quivered, he reached forward to press at the tender skin around the wound, terrified to discover that the color of his fingers had morphed into a deathly, greyish hue. And, as if this sight weren't alarming enough, Kíli began to identify a list of other disturbing changes that were shifting throughout his body; his lips were dry and cracked, his body was uncontrollably vibrating, and unprovoked sweat beads were producing along the dark hairline of his brow.

The young prince wrapped his arms protectively around himself, hoping beyond hope that none of his companions had caught wind of his worsening condition. They were _so_ close to the end of their journey. They were _so_ close to achieving their goal. They were _so_ damned close to Erebor. Kíli couldn't risk the chance of halting their progression; or _worse_, being left behind…

As if on cue, Kíli's ears twitched in response to the sound of creaking floorboards as they shifted loudly beneath large, retreating feet.

The dwarf prince glanced up, catching a glimpse of the puzzled and disturbed look that flashed across Bard the Bargeman's face as he rushed for the door. Bard's son, Bain, ran quickly after his father, pulling the door slightly ajar while poking his unkempt head of hair through the narrowed breach with concern.

"Don't let them leave!" Bard warned in a sibilant whisper, loud enough for Kíli to gather.

"But, Da-" Bain's shaky assertion fell upon def ears, answered only by the sounds of heavy strides as Bard escaped down the stairwell. Bain discreetly re-entered the home while shutting the door quietly behind him; his adolescent face a picture of absolute confusion.

Kíli watched with amusement as Bain then studied each dwarf, in turn, clearly terrified. When the boy's sea-green eyes eventually flicked onto Kíli, the dwarf prince kindly offered him a small, reassuring smile, paired with a wink. Bain managed to smile back; though it was an awkward, uncertain kind of smile that left Kíli feeling… oddly sympathetic.

"Where has your father gone?" Inquired Thorin, drawing their attentions. Kíli flinched as his uncle shuffled aggressively forward, glaring at Bain with an adamant demand buried deep within his fierce blue eyes.

"He's… he'll return." Bain responded in a small voice, swallowing nervously as his feet shuffled backwards. As the boy recoiled, his heels buckled loudly against the base of the door and his palms flattened to brace him.

"Where has he gone?" Thorin repeated, louder.

Kíli began to stand, despite the pain that met him halfway through the motion; but it was Fíli who ultimately rushed forward to Bain's aid. The blonde-headed dwarf placed a firm hand upon Thorin's shoulder, pulling him slightly backwards while deliberately interrupting the tense interaction.

"He doesn't know, Thorin." Fíli mumbled, voice subdued and calm.

The King of Durin let out a thwarted, angry growl while shrugging Fíli's hand away. He then turned towards Balin and Dwalin with an exasperated expression, folding his arms indignantly across his broad chest, pairing the motion with a hefty sigh.

Kíli frowned, steeling a perceptive glance towards his brother. He and Fíli were _well_ accustomed to Thorin's stern, fatherly approaches; though it never failed to unnerve them when his tempter began to rise.

As a stubborn dwarf of youth, Kíli was occasionally successful in disgruntling Thorin; whether it was a result of his smart-mouthed comments or as a consequence of his tenacious actions. And, much like clockwork, Fíli would always come to his younger brother's rescue, calming the hot-headed King of Durin down each and every time the tensions rose.

It was well-known among the Company that, of the two, Fíli had an approach with Thorin that no other dwarf could match. Kíli had deduced, over the years, that Thorin's respect for Fíli was a long-established admiration; developed sometime after Frerin's death. Frerin, who was Thorin's younger brother, had died sixty years before Fíli had been born; but Frerin and Fíli's uncanny resemblance was an unshakable view for Thorin, and a truth that often worked in the elder heir's favor.

When the tensions within the house had finally settled, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin began grumbling and bickering in hushed, secretive tones, discussing bold ploys that Kíli felt inclined to ignore. He knew, without hearing, that his uncle was attempting to devise a plan of escape; despite the dangers that they had all been cautioned about by Bard. Such was the style of Thorin Oakenshield; lead the Company into arduous situations and then devise rash, foolhardy ploys of liberation.

"Bain, isn't it?" Fíli suddenly inquired of the boy, a gentle caution held within his voice.

"Aye," the boy nodded, unmoving from his position against the door.

"Do not look so fearful. You have no enemies here, Bain." Continued Fíli with a sincerity that eased the child's rearing apprehensions.

Kíli detected a jittery movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced toward the activity to behold the Bargeman's two daughters standing nervously within the kitchen. They both appeared to be repulsed by their unexpected house guests, much like their brother. Kíli observed the way that their young eyes darted turbulently between the thirteen dwarves, and he was strangely overcome with a foreign urge to comfort them.

The dwarf prince shifted himself atop the bench, taking care to shield his bleeding wound with the cloth of his tunic, then offered the girls a small smile while leaning haltingly towards them. "What are your names?"

Two sets of sea-green eyes shot towards him warily.

The youngest child tilted her nose upward to briefly stare at her sister, querying permission. When the eldest daughter gave the child no look of opposition she glanced back down onto Kíli and spoke softly. "I'm Tilda…" she paused to hook her thumb up and over her head towards the taller sibling, "and she's Sigrid."

"Tilda and Sigrid." Kíli echoed, eyes brimming with warmth despite his chilled demeanor. He remembered a time, long ago, when he and Fíli were about their ages; only the dwarf brothers were far more inane than these two virtuous children appeared to be. "Those are lovely names. I'm Kíli…" he started, pausing for a span as the bench creaked loudly beneath him in reaction to Fíli settling in alongside him. The princes exchanged short glances of acknowledgement before Kíli continued, "and this is Fíli."

Fíli offered the sisters a cordial smile, placing his right elbow atop his knee and resting his chin within the palm of his hand. He then spared a moment to assimilate Kíli's appearance; his cool composure marginally drifting as he noticed the fading color within his brother's face. Kíli shied away from Fíli's inspection, anticipating his blonde counterpart to begin the _protective-older-brother-inquiries_ at any moment.

"You don't look well."

_Mahal…_

"_You_ don't look well." Kíli shot back, hoping that his taunting banter would quiet Fíli's growing concerns.

"Kee."

"Fee."

Fíli jerked his head up and away from his palm and inhaled slowly, drawing patience into his lungs. His sapphire colored eyes then narrowed down onto Kíli's hidden leg as his bearded jawline noticeably tightened. With a heavy respire, Fíli motioned towards the wound, demanding the inevitable, "show me your leg."

"It's fine."

"Show me."

"It's _fine_."

"Are you brothers?" Asked Sigrid, taking a few steps forward while ushering Tilda along.

The dwarf princes shifted their attentions onto the girls, snapping immediately out of their firm altercation, each brother finding the inquiry to be both alarming and bemusing. Was their kinship not obvious?

Bain moved to his sister's sides, placing himself firmly alongside Tilda, and Kíli examined the trio's soft, innocent features more precisely. The sibling's identical sandy-brown hair and glassy, sea-green eyes gave them all a childlike and pure semblance, igniting a pang of remorse within Kíli's conscience.

_Our quest does not belong among innocent human children, _he mused.

"Unfortunately for me, yes." Fíli answered Sigrid with a frown, compelling Kíli to shoot him a look of phony consternation. "He's _quite_ clumsy."

"I may be clumsy," Kíli countered, lowering the timbre of his voice into a soft whisper, "but I'm not the one that was dropped on my head as a child."

"Pay him no mind, he's just desirous." Said Fíli. He then reached over and pat the short, dark stubble along Kíli's narrow jawline, while using his other hand to stroke down the long, blonde bristles that protruded proudly from his own chin. "Perhaps if you had been dropped on _your_ head as a child, you would be capable of growing a divine, glorious beard as well."

The girls and Bain all giggled, which caused several other dwarves to glance upon them with suspicion.

Kíli smacked his brother's hand away with a weak, unsteady arm as he suppressed a shuttering chill, and he casually shrugged off Fíli's icy blue stare as it pressed with concern into the side of his paling face. Once the children's laughter had quieted down Kíli pointed to the left side of Tilda's head, anxious for an excuse to defer Fíli's pressing stare.

"Did you know that there's something hidden within your ear, m'lady?" Inquired Kíli, shifting ever-so-slightly away from his brother.

Tilda straightened and beamed, bringing her fingers in and around the outside of her left ear to search for the fictional object. After a span, she pressed her lips together before demanding, "where?"

"Come here, I'll fetch it." Kíli said, motioning for her to step forward.

Without hesitation, the Bargeman's youngest daughter took a large step forward as her curiosity triumphed over any of her previous apprehensions.

Once she was within arm's reach of him, Kíli slipped his hand down into the deepest corner of his pocket and shifted his mother's rune stone up into the sleeve of his tunic. He then reached his hand up towards Tilda's ear, masking the token from her inquiring eyes. Then, once Tilda appeared to be _quite_ certain that Kíli had been terribly mistaken, the dwarf prince protruded the stone up into his hand and 'pulled' the object out of her ear, shooting her a startled look.

Tilda's eyes widened with disbelief as Sigrid and Bain beamed with amusement alongside her. Her young, innocent face lit up with wonder as she mouthed, "how…"

Kíli twisted and rolled the token in and around his fingertips, then quirked an eyebrow as he dropped the stone back into the safety of his pocket.

"Magic." Fíli answered from Kíli's side, nudging him gently.

"Are you… small wizards?" Tilda inquired while groping the skin around her ear, determined to uncover obscured holes within the side of her head. Fíli chuckled alongside Kíli, leaning his back against the wall while shaking his yellow head of hair with merriment.

"No," Kíli answered with a shrug. An image of Gandalf, the wizard who had accompanied them during most of their long and tiring journey, immediately sprang forth within his mind. "But we _do_ know a wizard! He wears a big, pointed hat and a long grey robe."

"He carries a tall staff, too." Fíli added, now fully engrossed within the conversation.

"Does he use magic as well?" Asked Tilda, her eyes alight with awe.

"In a way." Said Kíli, crinkling his nose as he considered her inquiry. Gandalf's "magic" was more accurately described as knowledge, rather than tricks; but this knowledge had proven time and again to be the most valuable weapon that the old, wise wizard possessed_._

_If only Gandalf and his "magic" were here now_… Kíli thought, beginning to wonder if his dire outcome would have changed if the wizard were still around. And yet, a small part of Kíli whispered, he didn't _truly_ want a different outcome…

He swallowed thickly as an image of tender green eyes and long, crimson hair flashed across his mind, reminding him of low-lit chambers and a small prison cell.

Kíli shook his head, banishing his wandering thoughts, and glanced down towards his injured leg as it throbbed with a single shot of pain; and his stomach coiled with fear as he realized that the tunic had shifted during his short game with Tilda. The dwarf prince immediately scrambled to cover the sight of his leg before the children could view it – Mahal forbid, it might frighten them – but his efforts were ill-fated.

"Are you badly injured?" Asked Sigrid, furrowing her brow in a perturbed manner as Kíli's flustered, greying hands reached out to cover the wound.

Kíli hesitated, swallowing a lump as it gathered within his throat. His broad shoulders then heaved forward as Fíli dropped a heavy, reassuring arm across them, squeezing his younger brother into a warm and comforting embrace. They sat, unmoving and silent, as Kíli's mind began to reel with dread.

He thought of a time when he was a very young child, living beneath the protection of the Blue Mountains, and a traveling tradesman had happened upon their city seeking immediate aid. The man had been ambushed by orc's, and Kíli could remember the image of a poorly-crafted black arrow embedded deeply within the traveler's arm. To this day, Kíli could still hear the man's screams as darkness had descended, and his blood-curdling shriek of "fire in my veins" over, and over, and over, _and over_ again, until the screaming had eventually stopped.

"Nah," Kíli encouraged them at length, chasing the memory away, "it takes a lot more than a goblin's arrow to conquer a dwarf."

_Or does it?_

Moments later, a rush of searing pain flowed up from the wound, coursing like a fire throughout Kíli's weakening body. The raven-haired dwarf leaned heavily against his brother's chest while stifling the urge to cry out in torment.

_Fire in my veins, fire in my veins, fire in my veins…_

Once the pain had subsided Kíli opened his tear-filled eyes and glanced nervously onto the children, concerned that his painful episode may have frightened them.

"Kee…" Fíli started, voice trembling with fear. Kíli's soft, brown eyes flashed up into his brother's sapphire gaze, and his heart immediately sank. He knew that look, all too well. It was a look that he had received many times throughout his life; and it was a look that only Fíli would give him. Even their mother, who constantly worried about her sons on a day-in and day-out basis, could not compete with Fíli and his protective nature over his younger brother.

"It's not fair." Said Kíli, voice shaking as he winced.

"What?" Fíli breathed, quirking an eyebrow.

Kíli released a terse breath of air while averting his eyes down onto the wooden floor. "When will I have the opportunity to worry about _you_?" He asked in a teasing tone; though, he truly wished that day would never come.

* * *

**P**resent **D**ay...

Love hurt.

Kíli understood the reality of this now, more than ever, as he sat with an unwavering devotion at Fíli's injured side.

The raven-haired prince had lost count of the amount of times that he had attempted to glance up at Fíli's sickly face – with his skin ashen and his body overspread from head-to-toe in injuries and bruises – and had been immediately overcome with a grief _so_ unimaginable that his stomach would physically coil in pain. After a while, Kíli had resolved to keeping his gaze down while pressing his head heavily into the palms of his hands as a means to avoid such feelings.

The King's chambers within Erebor were absent of all sound, save for the crackling and popping of the blazes that danced within the fireplace and surrounding wall torches, and the calmness within that quiet had forced Kíli to acknowledge his own terrible conditions.

His throat burned. His head pounded with a dull, incessant pulse. His stomach ached from hunger and weeping. The tips of his fingers felt numb. His feet were sore and swollen. The muscles within his arms and legs were throbbing from earlier battles. Everything, he realized, was injured upon his body; either from physical thrashing or self-inflicted agony.

_Is there no glory in wars?_

Kíli's silent inquiry catapulted him back onto days when he and Fíli had been young and impressionable dwarves; raised and molded on the aberrant tales that their uncle Thorin would spout. They would sit atop his knees, Kíli on one side and Fíli across on the other, listening to Thorin speak about the Lonely Mountain and the illustrious halls of Erebor. The way Thorin would speak, his words dripping with passion and boundless enthusiasm, would ignite fervor and wonder within the brother's young hearts. His tales would leave the young princes desirous for the day in which they would travel among the Dwarves of Durin – their kin – and re-enter the halls of Erebor to defeat the abominable dragon, Smaug.

Reality, it would seem, was proving to be much more depressing than his childhood imaginings had dreamed.

Regardless of the promised glory, Erebor had developed a depression, of sorts; void of anything pleasant, good, or warm. Every hallway, room, crack, and crevasse within the kingdom felt cold and miserable, including the royal bed chambers that Kíli lingered within now. Despite the fire, and the beautiful golden decorations, and the lush blankets, and the elegant tapestries that hung across the tall bedposts, and the hand-carved bedframe… Kíli found it all to be a gathering of unpleasant frippery.

A loud, misplaced groan erupted from the giant golden-plated entranceway as the door heaved inward, causing Kíli's head to snap up with alarm. He swallowed dryly, hoping to relieve his tender throat, and sniffed his nose in failed attempts to compose himself in a hurry.

_Mahal, I do not possess the patience for another healer visit…_

Once his perception of the room had cleared, a flood of relief trickled throughout Kíli's body as he recognized the familiar and bulky outlines of Óin and his younger brother Glóin. The elder dwarves stood at the entrance of the room for a span, taking in Kíli's disheveled appearance while glancing between each other with perplexed expressions.

They each offered the young prince a warm smile before approaching him slowly. It wasn't until they were within arm's reach of him that Kíli's initial relief was replaced with annoyance as his eyes fell onto the assortment of items clutched tightly within Óin's left hand; a jar full of liquid medicine and a bundle of herbs, intended for Fíli's recovery.

At what point, Kíli internally wondered, were they going to give this up?

Kíli let out a small, frustrated groan as Óin set his items atop a small stone table that stood alongside the king's bed. Óin's eyes flicked onto Kíli and his expression hardened. They stared at one another in silence, for a moment, wherein Óin had decided to ignore Kíli's obvious dismay. He then reached across Fíli's body and lifted the blonde prince's injured arm up into is hands, twitching his nose back and forth as he examined the deep wound with keen eyes.

Kíli remained uncharacteristically quiet as the elder dwarf inspected the gash.

"No better, no worse." Óin announced, at length.

Kíli felt his composure beginning to slip as he glanced down onto his brother. "And what, exactly, does that mean?"

"He'll wake eventually. But his condition remains the same."

Kíli felt as if he were conversing with blades of grass.

With a frustrated exhale, the dwarf prince ran his hand roughly against the back of his neck as he snapped his eyes onto Óin, patience waning. "When do you suspect he will wake?"

"Perhaps soon. Perhaps later. I do not know."

Anger flared throughout Kíli's veins as he spat, "what _do_ you know!?"

Glóin suddenly released a hearty throat-clear, drawing Kíli's attention.

"Lad," Glóin grumbled from behind Óin, stroking at his long, red beard with a sigh, "tend to yourself. We'll watch over him."

"What?" Inquired Kíli. His dark, hazel eyes bounced between Glóin and Óin for a span as he anticipated the answer to emanate from one of their tightly clamped mouths.

Óin's bushy eyebrows quirked upwards, creating a hard crease along the top of his brow, as his right hand clutched tightly onto the trumpet-horn at his ear. He eventually wet his lips and spoke matter-of-factly while actively ignoring Kíli's pressing stare, "he'll wake eventually. And when he does, we will send for you."

"But-"

"Staring at him won't speed his recovery." Glóin interrupted, placing his arms heavily down around Kíli's broad shoulders. Kíli jumped at the pressing sensation and flinched beneath the elder dwarf's touch, unaccustomed to the feeling. At this, Glóin retracted his hands and pressed his lips into a hard line, glancing at Kíli with tenderness. "Wash the filth from your body. Rest. Eat."

"I want to be here when-"

"We'll send for you." Óin repeated, also interrupting.

Kíli's ears felt hot and his head began to spin. He was the youngest dwarf that had traveled within Thorin's Company, and was undoubtedly one of the youngest dwarves currently residing within the Lonely Mountain. Being the younger brother between himself and Fíli, Thorin had always treated Kíli as more of an adolescent; often allowing the young prince to roam as freely as his heart desired. And thus, everyone's perception of him had become solidified by one steady image; young, foolhardy, cheeky, audacious little Kíli…

"No!" Kíli said defiantly, hissing through gritted teeth as he stood abruptly, glaring between the elder dwarves with rising frustration.

He knew what their eyes saw when they looked at him, standing between the glow of the low-lit torches as they flicked from unseen gusts. He knew that he was young, and foolhardy, and cheeky, and audacious, and any other words that may have been used to describe him of late… but he was not going to be coddled, not by Glóin or Óin or _anyone_.

Glóin sighed, plastering a stern look onto his rose-tinted face. "Respectfully, lad, we _aren't_ asking you."

Kíli's nostrils flared as a rage billowed throughout him with extraordinary force. Dark tendrils of hair drifted from behind the nape of his ear, falling in streaks before his uncharacteristically angry eyes, but he made no move to address them.

With a terse sigh, Kíli rounded his shoulders and pronounced, with his face tight and his voice harsh, "I am not a child."

"No, you are not. You are our prince. And we are worried about you." Glóin snapped, twisting his lips as he examined Kíli's face. "You're driving yourself mad, Kíli."

Kíli glanced between them, allowing his jaw to constrict and release a series of times. He then drew his eyes onto Fíli, unable to resist the temptation of a look, and his stomach knotted instantly.

_Am I …? _

With a sigh, Kíli brought his hands up to his face, rubbing the heels against the lids of his eyes. He internally battled with his crumbling emotions, attempting to sway the fury as it dominated his every thought. He had never considered himself to be an emotional dwarf; he was foolish, stubborn, and loyal, _certainly_, but he had never described himself as a sentimental soul. But this day – this damned _hellish_ day – had changed a great deal of things, including him. And its assaults had successfully done him in, both mentally _and_ physically.

After a span, and feeling utterly defeated by his private torments, Kíli dropped his hands down to his sides, fully aware of the familiar burn that began to rise at the corners of his eyes. "I'm _sorry_." The dwarf prince managed to breathe, flicking his eyes back onto Glóin while taking a stuttering step backwards.

The elder dwarf rushed forward, his stern look immediately washed away. For the second time on this terrible day, Glóin dropped his hands heavily down around Kíli's shoulders and nodded with understanding. "You need to give yourself a break, lad. Go. Your brother is safe."

Too tired to argue, Kíli leaned into the pressure of Glóin's large hands, allowing the elder dwarf to curl him into a rough embrace as he drew several stuttering breaths. The rugged nature of Glóin's abrupt hug instantly transported Kíli back into a time when Thorin would similarly grasp onto him and his brother; seizing Kíli and Fíli at the napes of their necks and pulling them into his chest, while nuzzling roughly into the tops of their color-clashing heads. Kíli had always cherished the moments wherein Thorin was soft and kindly; for they were few and far between.

With a heavy sigh the raven-haired prince untangled himself from Glóin's arms and shifted towards the doorway. His legs felt heavy and insensitive as they carried him, twitching in objection as he willed them to move, and he listened to the echoing sounds of his heels as they grazed lazily across the stone floor beneath him.

Once Kíli had reached the golden entryway he paused, his palms placed firmly against the stone door, and he glanced back onto Óin and Glóin with weary, glistening eyes. "You'll… send for me, as soon as he wakes?"

Glóin and Óin exchanged knowing looks, then turned to him and nodded in unison.

"As soon as he wakes." Óin assured with a smile.

And at that, Kíli allowed himself to exit the room, feeling lighter with each jaded step.

* * *

Erebor felt strangely suffocating when Kíli considered the wide, beautiful world beyond.

For over seventy years Kíli had lived within the borders of the Blue Mountains, having been raised to understand that a dwarf's _true_ purpose remained in the lowest places of the earth; hidden somewhere between heavy stone, strong metal, and gloomy darkness. But Thorin Oakenshield's quest to reclaim Erebor had forced Kíli – and the rest of the Company – to travel across many of Middle Earth's wide valleys and enchanting forests, resulting in his strange new addiction to the wide, mysterious world. Kíli had spent six months sleeping beneath the stars, living among the wild, and breathing in the crisp winds of nature, all while growing largely attached to the outside lands.

It was due to this fact, and several _other_ facts, that Kíli now found himself silently sitting beneath the glittering stars, just beyond the entrance into the Lonely Mountain, with his back firmly planted against a tall, leaning column. He was content to be alone, finding company in the wind as it rustled throughout his tangled mess of hair, allowing the peace of the night to help settle his troublesome struggles.

In one moment, not so very long ago, Kíli had been an heir of Durin and prince to a throne that had sat empty for over a century. Then, in the next moment, he had become the brother to the new King Under the Mountain. Of course, Kíli still remained a prince, that much he understood, but he was now viewed in an entirely different light; for suddenly it _meant_ something to be a prince. It meant something to be _him_. And it was strange, and honorable, and empowering and…

_Entirely_ not what he had wanted.

Once, long ago, Kíli had been contented to admire the ways that Thorin longed to reclaim the throne, and Fíli had anticipated to one day inherit the crown. The younger prince had been put at ease with the idea that Thorin would be King Under the Mountain, and then Fíli would take the roll, all the while Kíli would remain a prince of little regard, just like he had always been. He would chase after pretty maids, protect the throne with his entire being, and maintain a balanced life _far below_ the radar of the crown.

But this was not reality. Reality, as it were, was shaping up to be much more attentive than Kíli had initially anticipated.

Every head bowed forward as he passed. Every mouth muttered "prince". Every dwarf that he had encountered, since leaving his brother's side within the royal chambers, had offered him some form of worldly comforts – whether it was food, water, clothing, or meaningful conversation – and it was all too much, too often. And the suddenness of his new role was beginning to jar Kíli in such a way that he was beginning to question Thorin's techniques in raising them. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, Thorin had spent an awful lot of time preparing Fíli for the future, and not enough time preparing the _other_ brother for the future. The younger brother. The _audacious_ brother.

The sudden blare of a horn sounded off in the distance, pulling Kíli back into the loneliness of his reality. He swallowed thickly as he pulled his knees up into his chest, cradling himself beneath the glow of the starlight, and he watched in stillness as the last of Thranduil's army disappeared beyond the darkening horizon. The dwarf prince wasn't entirely surprised by the abrupt, throbbing ache that surged across his heart as an image of tender green eyes and long, crimson hair flitted throughout his mind.

_I can't…_

The she-elf's words whispered against his cheek, twisting at his gut like a knife; soft, pained, and full of regret.

Kíli shook his head as anger warred with misery. He knew that she was gone. He knew that she was likely far, far away. He knew that she was returning to her forest and her kingdom and her home and her starlight...

_Will I ever see you again? _

A sudden guffaw of laughter drew the dwarf prince's straying attention, and Kíli's eyes snapped up to view Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur as they strolled gleefully past. Each dwarf within the trio was clutching a tall mug of ale while remaining completely unaware of their prince's hidden presence. The sight of them, all happy and relieved to have survived the hellish battles of the day, guiltily tugged at the sentimental strings that latched onto Kíli's soul.

_I have been avoiding my kin for long enough_, Kíli silently mused, despite his strong desire to remain hidden.

"Where are you off to?" The dwarf prince called out, causing them each to stop and turn in confusion.

Bofur's countenance was bright and cheery, true to his character despite the day's events, and his unbalanced hat hung lazily off to the right side of his head. When the elder dwarf's bright and sprightly eyes fell onto Kíli, who sat hunkered beneath the shadows of the pillar at his back, Bofur smiled widely. "We are just enjoying a midnight mead, and a stroll!"

Kíli brought his hands onto his knees and began to slowly stand, pausing midway through the motion to wince as his sore, aching muscles tensed and strained against him. He watched as Bifur and Bombur turned to view him as well, then he murmured lowly, "may I accompany you? I could use a… distraction."

"O'course, my prince!" Bofur answered, clearly surprised but also merrily willing to accommodate.

Bombur smiled widely while shoving a piece of bread – of which Kíli was uncertain from whence it came – deep into the darkness of his mouth, and Bifur grumbled in Khuzdul, "_It is good to see you, Prince_."

Kíli hesitated, inwardly reminding himself to be thankful for the diversion of his lingering thoughts, then nodded and moved to join them.

As they aimlessly traveled, sticking mainly to the outskirts of the earlier battle in attempts to avoid the war's earlier carnage, Kíli listened, somewhat inattentively, as the family of dwarves deliberated loudly amongst themselves. Bofur dominated most of the conversation, while Bombur ate and drank his ale, and Bifur mumbled occasional inputs. It wasn't until they had reached a silent hilltop, overlooking the eerie charm of the crumbling city of Dale, that Kíli finally began to assert himself.

"Well look at that." Bofur sighed with content, halting their travel. "Now there's a sight I never thought I'd get to see."

Kíli took a moment to appreciate the ancient kingdom as it sat, crumbled and battered, displaying a haunting beauty beneath the blanket of the glittering starlight. He could tell, by its sheer magnitude from where he now stood, that Dale was once a great, thriving kingdom alongside Erebor, and he found himself wondering if he would ever see a day when the two kingdoms would prosper again.

"Perhaps we can assist in the rebuilding of Dale." Kíli said, watching as the moonlight and clouds performed a dance of shadows across the kingdom's pale walls.

Bofur swayed on his feet while clasping both hands tightly around his tall mug of ale. "That's entirely up to you and the king, now."

The raven-haired prince swallowed thickly, sensing his face beginning to grow pale. Many, many decisions would have to be made by them, now; lists upon lists, he assumed. In fact, Kíli considered, it would be a much shorter list to write up of decisions that they _weren't_ going to be making…

Bofur suddenly extended his arm, clasping the tall flagon of ale outward, warmly offering the brew to Kíli. The dwarf prince hesitantly glanced onto the mug with consideration. After a span, he snatched the drink up, rougher than he had intended, and lifted the ale up to his lips. He began to swig, discovering that he was much thirstier than he had believed, allowing the brew to fill the pit of his empty belly.

"How fares Fíli?" Bofur inquired, causing Kíli to flinch and choke on the liquid.

"He rests," said Kíli in a detached tone, slowly drawing the mug downward while wiping the back of his sleeve roughly against his lower lip. "However, Óin assures that he will wholly recover."

"And you? Will you wholly recover?" Bofur pressed, his innocent tone not going unnoticed by Kíli.

The dwarf prince shied from the question, thrusting the mug of ale back into Bofur's chest while averting his dark, tired eyes. "As well as I can, I suppo-"

Kíli's breath suddenly hitched as his fixed stare fell upon a pair of wandering elves, briskly making their way North towards the tree line with a silver horse in tow. He immediately recognized the taller elf – with his long, ivory colored hair and his sky-blue eyes darting suspiciously across the land – as the elven prince called Legolas. As for the _other_ elf…

The raven-haired prince's stomach flipped, and the world shifted aggressively beneath his feet.

Bifur, Bofur and Bombur all glanced inquisitively in the direction of Kíli's eyes, curious as to what was causing his sudden falter.

"- that I should seek out a ranger, named Strider." Legolas could be heard saying, as the wind carried his voice up to the top of the hill where the dwarves presently stood.

Tauriel was staring softly into the side of Legolas' face with her hands busily twisting at her front, and Kíli felt himself slipping into a captivated stillness as he watched her elegantly move. _Mahal_, he had _almost_ forgotten how beautiful she was to him; with her long, auburn braid cascading down past her shoulders, and her fierce green eyes twinkling magically beneath the moonlight. He wasn't sure if it was the intoxication of the ale or the drum of his heart that had caused his head to suddenly pound with incitement.

Kíli wanted to approach them; he longed to speak to Tauriel before she returned to Mirkwood and remained out of his reach forever… but something, deep inside of his head, screamed against it.

"Your father never spoke of Arathorn before this day?" Asked Tauriel, causing Kíli's heart to unexpectedly flutter. The she-elf appeared troubled, he noticed, though her tone of voice remained steadfast and sweet as she kept pace alongside the elven prince.

"No." Legolas responded, his free hand resting lazily atop the hilt of his sword as the other loosely clasped onto the leather reigns that steered the horse at his heels. "Or my mother, not since her passing. It was all very strange. I sense that he has changed, Tauriel."

Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur remained as still as statues as the elves traveled closer, holding their breaths as if they feared an unprecedented attack. Kíli glanced onto the trio out of the corner of his eye, stifling a humorous snort as he felt a mixture of amusement and relief to their unusual behavior. At least, he knew, they wouldn't be drawing any attention…

"We have all changed, _mellon_." Tauriel spoke matter-of-factly, frowning in a way that only she could make pretty.

"Not you." Legolas countered. "You have always yearned for the outside lands, far beyond our borders. I anticipated your liberation long ago."

Kíli watched as Tauriel's mouth formed into a small smile, her brow furrowing softly as she averted her eyes. "And yet, you were always opposed to the idea."

"I was opposed to the … _naugrim._" Said Legolas, voice laced with bitterness and disdain. Tauriel immediately turned to him, narrowing her eyes with clear dismay, and the elf prince continued on in Sindarin, "a_min dele ten' lle_."

"_Uuma dela_." Tauriel retorted, sharply and full of irritation.

There was a silence between them wherein Legolas grabbed Tauriel's arm, causing Kíli's hand to absentmindedly fall onto the hilt of his sword. The dwarf prince could feel Bofur's eyes as they flicked cautiously towards him, though he shrugged the elder dwarf's pressing stare away with a frown.

"_Tauriel_," Legolas began again, softly.

"_Mani_?" Tauriel hissed.

Her expression softened the moment she took in Legolas' wavering countenance; which to Kíli appeared to be a mixture of apology, exhaustion, and sadness. Still, _sadness be damned_, Kíli _longed_ to slice off three feet of the elf prince's silvery hair and shove it down his sputtering throat…

"_Lle sinta onalle naa lle_." Legolas cooed, speaking with an unnerving passion.

Kíli felt instantly sick to his stomach as Tauriel's face shifted into a picture of concern. The she-elf then winced while respiring, "_Legolas_-"

"_Amin detholalle_…" Legolas interrupted, shaking his head with a smile. He slid his hand gently down the back of Tauriel's arm, letting the tips of his fingers linger for a moment as they journeyed down towards her wrist, then separated away from her touch.

"_Amin hiraetha_." Tauriel said, voice suddenly rife with regret.

Legolas opened his mouth to respond but – just as the words seemed to travel up through his throat and out onto his grimy tongue – Bifur made an irritated grumbling sound that drew both of the elves' attentions.

Kíli swallowed thickly as his eyes clashed against Legolas' narrowed gaze, sending an icy chill throughout the dwarf prince's veins.

The elf's jaw noticeably tightened before he turned his attention back onto Tauriel, offering the she-elf a sanguine smile. He then extended his arm out to her in a formal manner, bowing his head forward while murmuring, "_Na lu e-govaned vin, Tauriel_."

"_N'i lu tol, Legolas_." Tauriel responded, grabbing the elf prince's forearm and bowing.

Kíli could tell by their melancholy expressions, and what little he understood of the Sindarin language, that they were exchanging heartfelt farewells.

The elves stood in their parting embrace for a brief period of time before Legolas straightened and swung – with astonishingly effortless grace – up onto the silver horse's back, planting himself nimbly atop the thin leather saddle. The elf prince spared a moment to dip his head in Tauriel's direction, shooting her one last wistful glance, before reigning the tall beast in the direction of the dwarves.

Kíli watched with growing confusion as Legolas approached him, his blue eyes clouded over with a mixture of grief and anger, and pulled the horse into a brief stop in front of the group of puzzled dwarves. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all took hesitant steps backwards, glancing between each other with uncertainty as the silver steed between the elf's legs shook its head and snorted in protest, seeming almost as eager to flee as its rider.

"I wish you great prosperity in the coming age, Dwarf." Legolas spoke, after a silent span.

Kíli's eyes bounced from Legolas, to Tauriel, then back onto Legolas. He struggled to force a response, speaking gruffer than intended, "I wish you… a safe … journey."

Legolas narrowed his crystal eyes onto Kíli with interest, lowering his voice into a private murmur. "I sense that our paths will cross again."

_Mahal, I hope not._

"Until then." Kíli mumbled, bowing his head forward while praying that his voice did not betray his internal thoughts.

"She is giving up _everything_ for you."

_What?_

Kíli straightened, snapping his brown eyes quizzically up toward Legolas. But before there was any further explanation or comment Legolas squeezed his heels against the horse's rounded belly, steering the anxious steed in the direction of the forests as it strode loudly away.

Bofur cleared his throat with a nervous cough, giving life to every ounce of Kíli's silent, heavy inquiries, "he travels alone?"

"It would appear so." Kíli breathed, staring into the empty space of nothingness that Legolas and his antsy horse had once resided within.

_She is giving up everything for you._

Bifur began to curse in Khuzdul, throwing around phrases like "filthy elven prince" heavily into the mixture, causing Bofur to wince. It wasn't until the elder dwarf began spewing his hatred in Tauriel's general direction that his cousin finally interjected.

"Ay now," Bofur warned, elbowing his wild-haired cousin aggressively in the ribs as a means to silence the haughty dwarf's remarks, "Tauriel saved Kíli's life!"

"Twice." Kíli added, in a mesmerized tone.

"Twice! Twice?" Bofur echoed, turning to Kíli with a raised eyebrow.

Kíli began to answer, but it was a softer, much more delicate voice that responded.

"Three times, actually." Said Tauriel, drawing all of their attentions as she approached them slowly, gliding listlessly across the quiet stretch of field between them.

The she-elf stared fervidly into Kíli's brown eyes, devoted to him for several breathless moments wherein the dwarf prince had all but forgotten how to breathe. Much like the first time he had seen her, Kíli felt utterly powerless to the allure of her deep, forest green eyes that brimmed with passion and fondness. Like most elves, Tauriel was tall and lean with hair that flowed well past her shoulders, and she had fair, silky skin that flushed beneath the light of stars, leaving Kíli desirous to reach out and touch her. Had it been merely himself and she-elf alone on the outskirts of the battlefield, without the pressing glares of his kin, Kíli _may_ have performed something foolish...

When she had finally arrived amidst the group of dwarves Tauriel paused, shifting her weight onto her heels while placing her hands gently atop her hips. Her full lips curved up into a small, charming smile before she teased, "I can understand where you may begin to lose count, Prince."

Kíli smirked, drawing in a lengthy breath. "Ah – yes. Three times. How _forgetful_ of me."

Bifur started to grumble again while piercing dagger-like stares into the side of Tauriel's face, but his breath abruptly squeaked, and then fell into silence, as he received a hard fist to the chest from Bofur. Tauriel shifted uncomfortably, though Kíli caught a flash of amusement as it spread across her features.

"Pay him no mind, it's the axe." Bofur glowered, pointing at his own head for emphasis. He then gestured after Legolas, in the direction of the deep, shadowed forests, and inquired of the she-elf, "shouldn't you be getting after him?"

A tension shifted across the she-elf's countenance as she glanced up into the night's sky with a wince.

"I have seen far too much of the world to return to Mirkwood. And Legolas…" Tauriel started, voice poignant and sad, "Legolas wanders his own path now. A path that I cannot exist on."

"You don't intend to return to Mirkwood, and you don't intend to follow him…" Bofur began, sloshing his ale loudly about the inside of his mug as he swung it around in animation, "then whereabouts are you intending to go?"

The raven-haired prince swallowed dryly, nervously anticipating the response that he knew would be his ruin...

Tauriel's eyes flicked onto Kíli, quickly and subtle enough to go unnoticed by any but he, before she smiled to Bofur and said, "I will remain here, in Dale."

Kíli felt his jaw drop partially open as her words struck a chord, causing his heart to tremble.

_She is giving up everything for you._

A slew of negatives tumbled across Bifur's tongue, causing Bombur to choke on a swig of ale and Bofur to flush a deep shade of red. Jumping immediately into action, Bofur hooked his arms around both Bombur and Bifur's elbows while prodding them hurriedly past Tauriel and in the direction of the city. "Come along, cousin, brother; let's see if they have any more ale to spare in Dale. Ha! Ale in Dale…"

Kíli watched the three dwarves as they sauntered slowly away, waiting until they were far-and-well out of earshot, before flicking his eyes back onto Tauriel and uttering, "is this what you want? To live here? Away from everything that is familiar to you?"

_This cannot be true, _Kíli silently mused. He recalled their earlier exchanges, once on the beach and once on Ravenhill, where he had professed the most precious and honest declaration of his heart to Tauriel; and she had, in the kindest way possible, reminded him of their reality. _I can't_, she had whispered. Twice, in fact. And both times Kíli had been resolved to accept the facts of their existence, and to acknowledge the verifiable truth that they did not live within a world wherein a Silvan Elf and a dwarf prince could clandestinely fall in love.

A silence stretched between them as Tauriel glanced thoughtfully towards the city. She looked happy, though Kíli sensed a hint of sorrow as it flashed across her face. "Bard has proposed that I live among his people. I intend to aid in the rebuilding of Dale, act as a bridge between elves and men, and improve upon their defenses."

Kíli smirked before moving forward, bringing himself to stand alongside her. He privately fought against the sudden, audacious urge to gingerly grasp Tauriel's hand and pull her into the warmth of his arms, intending to do _Mahal_ _only knows_ _what_. Instead, the dwarf prince cleared his throat loudly, banning his inappropriate thoughts from advancing any further, and drew his hands into a folded position at his front. "That is… a great deal of obligations. All of which do not exactly _answer_ my initial question."

Tauriel narrowed her eyes onto the vast city stretched out before them, pursing her lips. Kíli could tell, long before she spoke, that she was internally battling against the impulsion to indulge him with the truth or to dance her words carefully around it. "It pleases me to assist, in any way that I am capable."

"Tauriel." Kíli respired, his voice expanding with disappointment. "You may speak freely – it is only us now, after all."

The she-elf squared her shoulders as silent emotions barreled heavily between them. Kíli could see Tauriel's apprehensions as they swam across her eyes, floating just beneath the surface, and he privately wondered if her unease was composed of the same influence as his own.

Finally, she spoke, this time choosing to delve into the truth. "For many years, I had all but lost faith in this world and its people. I had grown weary to the notion that we, as elves, were barely a part of Middle Earth's destiny, fated to one day abandon it to its own provoked ruin…" Tauriel's voice trailed off as she searched the skies for an answer, and there was a moment's hesitation before her emerald gaze flicked down onto Kíli. Their eyes locked and she smiled prettily, wetting her lips before whispering, "Then our paths crossed, and you led me here. For the first time in my life I feel… _alive_, as you once put it."

Kíli watched as the she-elf's smile faded into a soft line, and her eyes shone with an emotion that he could not place.

_She is giving up everything for you._

The dwarf prince exhaled a breath he had been unaware of holding as a pang of guilt twisted viciously at his gut, reminding him of the sacrifices that Tauriel would be making and the hardships that she would more than likely be faced with. _This_ was what Legolas had warned him of, and Kíli would be a fool to dispute the reality of the situation.

Kíli drew upon the most princely poise that he could muster and, with a voice that trembled, he respired, "You are giving up everything, and I cannot let you go through with this in good conscience, Tauriel. I recognize that you may feel inclined to help the people of Dale, and to be-"

The dwarf prince drew in a shaky breath as Tauriel knelt beside him, silencing him with her soft, temperate stare. "It _is_ what I want, Kíli."

He had questions – _so_ many damned questions – but he couldn't presently bait them into words. Instead, he resolved to enjoy the silent moment in which they stared at one another; her eyes firm and his eyes gentle, and Kíli offered Tauriel a kindly smile while muttering, "then I am glad."

Tauriel remained silent as a light wintery breeze swept throughout the small space between them. Her auburn strands shifted gently against her cheeks, caressing the delicate spaces of her neck and ears that Kíli longed to reach out and feel. After a span, her emerald eyes suddenly narrowed into slits as a guilt-driven expression brushed across her lovely features, so swiftly and silently that Kíli believed the contortion to be driven entirely by the wind itself. "How is your brother?"

An image of Fíli suddenly flashed before Kíli's eyes, reminding the dwarf prince of urgent matters that he had abandoned for _far_ too long. He flinched, internally forcing himself to reel his heart back into a place where he could control its desires. With a voice, deep and weary, he spoke, "because of you, Fíli is alive. I do not know how we– how_ I_ will ever repay you for what you have done."

Tauriel hesitated for a moment, looking as if she perched heavily upon Kíli's confession with deep consideration. Suddenly, the she-elf reached forward and gently clasped the back of the dwarf prince's wrist, tugging his hand free from its clasped position at his front. Kíli's heart began drumming loudly against his chest, pounding faintly throughout the space between his ears, and he watched as Tauriel placed something cool, smooth, and familiar within the center of his palm.

A knowing smile flashed instantly across the dwarf prince's features as his mother's rune stone settled lightly against his skin; and the small token awoke precious memories of a secretly whispered vow.

_Keep it. As a promise._

"This is how I repay you? By taking back what was given as a gift?" Kíli began in a humorous tone, catching the tips of Tauriel's warm fingers before her hand could slip away. The feeling of her skin, so soft and welcoming, sent a rush of heat up into the center of his chest. And a deep, trembling desire began to form within the pit of the dwarf prince's belly as wild, extrinsic feelings trickled hungrily in. "Surely, that won't do."

Kíli watched with amusement as the she-elf's face suddenly flushed before she whispered, "stop giving me reasons to rescue you and I _may_ consider your debts paid."

A profoundly tender, affectionate feeling wrapped its way around Kíli's heart; and somewhere, hidden deep within the mines of the dwarf prince's soul, he was aware of what was beginning to happen to him.

"Ah," he breathed, voice husky and low as he pulled Tauriel gently towards him, "but I wouldn't want to spoil our affair…"

"Prince Kíli!"

Kíli's ears twitched as an unfamiliar voice cried out; and Tauriel's fingers slipped hastily free from his grasp as they each straightened and turned. An unfamiliar dwarf, short and stubby, came barreling onto the top of hill with determined speed, and a look of relief spread across his rumpled features as he caught sight of Kíli. "Your brother has awoken!"

* * *

Kíli flew through the halls of Erebor, running as quickly as his feet would permit, twisting in and out of unrecognizable faces as they glanced to him with confusion.

Óin stood like a guardian at the entrance to the royal chambers, catching Kíli roughly by the curve of his arm before the young dwarf could hurriedly burst into the room. The raven-haired prince snapped his eyes fiercely onto the elder dwarf, clearly puzzled, before Óin spoke in a cautionary tone, "He's been asking for you. He doesn't know anything yet. We figured it may be best coming from you."

Kíli's shoulders tensed as the reality of Óin's words sank in, leaving him feeling chilled and discontented all the way down to his core. Of course, the news of Thorin's passing _would_ be best coming from him, and he knew this to be true. Still, it wasn't a conversation that Kíli had prepared himself to have.

Óin's hand suddenly fell heavily atop Kíli's shoulder, squeezing the young prince in a reassuring notion before shifting past him to disappeared among the dark shadows of the hallway. Kíli swallowed thickly while gnawing nervously upon the inside of his cheek, mulling over his internal dread in a hurry. Eventually he felt prepared enough to enter the room, doing his best to compose his features into something akin to joy.

A torrent of emotions abruptly swept throughout the raven-haired prince as he was greeted by a flash of familiar, bright blue eyes, and he slowly began to drink in Fíli's tattered demeanor. The young king-to-be was sitting upright on the bed, looking ill and wounded as he favored his shattered arm; but he appeared to be healthful over-all, _considering_.

The moment Fíli's eyes recognized the face of his younger brother, who stood cautiously silent in the center of the room, his contagiously familiar smile stretched widely across his features, causing the beaded-braids of his blonde mustache to sway in comical unison.

Kíli slowly began to shift towards the edge of his brother's bed, noting how much _warmer_ it felt within the king's chambers now. He couldn't resist himself from blurting out in a teasing tone, "you don't look well."

"_You_ don't look well." Fíli countered, taking a page out of Kíli's own book. The blonde dwarf then attempted to chuckle but the movement of his chest proved to be severely painful, and he slouched haltingly forward as a violent fit of coughing ensued. "I can't – I can't …"

"Careful, Fee," Kíli murmured, sitting down beside his brother while pressing his hand gently against Fíli's chest, easing him back onto the cushions of the bed. "Breathe."

As soon as his coughing had eased into silence, Fíli placed his hand heavily upon Kíli's forearm and grinned. "You're alive. I had feared – _ah_ –" he winced as an apparent wave of pain traveled throughout him, "I had feared that you… were… gone."

Kíli watched with concern as his brother rode the current of torment that ached across his body, then folded his hand softly over the top of Fíli's and sighed. "I thought _you_ were gone."

Fíli shifted his weight on the bed, beseechingly glancing around the king's chambers as a stretch of discomfort passed in and out of his voice. "Where have you – _mmph_ – been?"

"Ah," Kíli cleared his throat, averting his eyes with a frown, "Óin and Glóin had sent me away."

Fíli brought his attention back onto his brother, halting his inspection of the room. "Sent you away?"

"You know how I tend to act when I'm alone." Kíli started, voice drifting. "I was going mad with concern."

"Now you know how I felt last … night." Said Fíli, pointedly referring to their night spent in Lake Town, wherein Kíli had _almost_ succumbed to the luring invitation of death. Kíli quirked an eyebrow and nodded, feeling surprised by his brother's unscathed wit. Fíli's expression suddenly shifted into one of dire concern, causing Kíli to wince uncomfortably. He knew, before hearing, what was coming next…

"Where – where is… Thorin?"

_Mahal help me._

Kíli's eyes began to swell with the sting of emotion as he bowed his head slowly forward, allowing the dark tangles of his hair to shift forward and conceal his somber expression from Fíli's acute stare. He swallowed dryly, fighting down the rising quiver within his voice, "you've been asleep a long while, Fee."

Fíli's demeaner darkened, and the heavy circles beneath his bright, blue eyes trembled as he studied his brother's distressed face. Without an utterance, Fíli suddenly leaned forward, despite the obvious pains of his shifting movements, and brought his forehead down to rest gently against Kíli's. "I f-failed him…"

"No. Victory _is_ ours." Kíli assured instantly, shaking his head. Though, it felt like a lie, despite his efforts.

"It was… not ours- _mmm_…" Fíli's voice trailed off as another wave of pain engulfed him. Kíli gripped Fíli's shoulders, holding him stilly in place until he had successfully navigated his way through the painful rush of tremors, and then finally continued, "it was not ours to have, Kee. Not y-yet."

A genial voice sounded off from somewhere behind Kíli, causing his ears to unexpectedly twitch. "Thorin knew that it was won. He wanted it for you, lads. For all of us."

Kíli and Fíli leaned away from each other and snapped their eyes onto Balin, who stood within the entrance of the doorway while peering at the brothers with grief-stricken eyes.

"This is not how it should end." Responded Fíli in a meager voice, catching a tear against the back of his hand as it tumbled down his ruddied cheek. Kíli pressed his lips into a hard line as he watched his brother's eyes expand with despair. He realized that it had been an age since he had last witnessed Fíli mourn, having lastly occurred on the day of their father's untimely demise.

"End?" Balin said with twinkling eyes, glancing between the young dwarves with a hopeful smile. "This is just the beginning. You have much to look forward to, yet, and there is a kingdom now counting on the both of you." Kíli and Fíli exchanged quiet glances, full of understanding, as Balin bowed his head lightly forward and slowly exited the room. "Sleep now. You will need your rest for tomorrow."

_Tomorrow_. Kíli's eyes hardened as he began to imagine the gathering that would take place on the following day. He knew, as well as Fíli undoubtedly knew, that the passing of a king and the crowning of a prince usually fell upon the same ceremony, as was dwarven tradition. Though, traditions be damned, Kíli found this reality to be quite the disturbing concept.

Kíli offered his brother a small, kindly smile before rolling onto his feet and standing with a light-headed rush. He took a labored step in the direction of the door, meaning to follow after Balin, but his motion was paused by a warm hand as it caught him gently above the elbow. Kíli glanced back onto Fíli, eyes brimming with confusion, but his features softened as he noticed the distressed expression plastered across his brother's pale face.

Kíli bowed his head forward, understanding the meaning within Fíli's silent glance, and rounded the large bed with heavy feet. He then crawled up onto the mattress alongside his brother, surprised by the alluring comfort that the ancient furniture managed to maintain, and slowly lowered himself down onto the lush layer of quilts beneath him. Once he was adjusted into a comfortable position Kíli's hands folded calmly against the dip of his stomach, rising and falling along with the rhythm of his tired breaths, as he stared up at the dark ceiling with viable interest. The fireplace, still ablaze with warm life at the corner of the room, cast appealing shadows across the golden carvings above them, reminding Kíli of recent nights spent beneath the glow of the glistening stars.

"Everything will… change now." Fíli muttered, breaking the contemplative silence between them.

Kíli tensed, both physically and mentally, as he resounded in a gruff voice, "_we_ will change."

Fíli shifted loudly beside him, turning his head weakly so that he could gaze upon his younger brother. "Kee," he mumbled in a tired whisper, drawing Kíli's attention. "No matter what, I need you to – _mmm_ – to know…" Fíli drew in a heavy breath, cringing as his injured arm strained against his rough movements, "you mean more to me than a-anything."

Kíli smiled weakly. "More than your beard?" He jested, watching with amusement as Fíli rolled his tired eyes. When Fíli refused to respond, Kíli chuckled lowly and rolled onto his side, pressing his cheek heavily against the soft surface of a rounded pillow. "I _suppose_ that I love you, as well."

* * *

**A/N:** The Sindarin exchange between Legolas and Tauriel was found online and translates into:

_Mellon_ – Friend

_Naugrim_ – Dwarf

"_Amin dele ten' lle_." - "I am worried about you."

"_Uuma dela_." - "Do not worry."

"_Mani_?" - "What?"

"_Lle sinta onalle naa lle_." - "You know my heart is yours."

"_Amin detholalle_…" - "I know your choice…"

"_Amin hiraetha_." - "I am sorry."

"_Na lu e-govaned vin, Tauriel_." - "Until next we meet, Tauriel."

"_N'i lu tol, Legolas_." - "Until then, Legolas."


End file.
